When Motherhood Makes You a Stranger to Yourself

When I was 24, freshly graduated with a master’s in counseling psychology, I thought I had life all figured out. I was working in foster care, making the grand sum of $11.50 an hour, while my husband was away working in upstate New York. It was a time of scrappy independence and, honestly, a bit of soul-searching. I decided to pick up a part-time job at A Pea in the Pod—a high-end maternity store—because, let’s be real, I had babies on the brain and figured the discount would come in handy someday. Little did I know, this job would be one of those experiences that sneaks up on you and shifts something in your soul—a moment that, years later, you recognize as one of life’s quiet but profound teachers.

It turned out to be one of the best decisions I could’ve made. Not only did I gain two incredible women as lifelong friends—part of my sisterhood—but I also stepped into a world I didn’t yet belong to: motherhood. Working in a maternity store while not being a mom was… let’s just say, eye-opening. Every day, I met women at different points in their motherhood journeys, and their stories stuck with me in ways I didn’t fully understand until years later.

There was the 37-year-old first-time mom who confessed she’d waited until her career was flourishing before having kids. She told me, almost guiltily, that she wasn’t sure she wanted more than one but felt selfish for denying her child a sibling. Then there was the mom of four, who came in frazzled because, surprise—her husband’s vasectomy had apparently failed, and she was now expecting twins. “Four felt perfect,” she said with a tired laugh. “I guess six is… abundant?” And there were countless women, like the one just six weeks postpartum, searching for bras that didn’t make her feel like she was one spit-up away from losing her identity altogether.

I remember her so clearly. She stood there, teary-eyed, clutching a nursing bra, and said, “My husband will never freaking touch me if I wear this.” My 24-year-old self, naive and judgmental, thought, Ugh, who did you marry? How could you live like that? But now, standing on the other side of nearly two decades, four kids, and a body that has been stretched, pulled, and reshaped by motherhood, I see her differently.

Maybe it wasn’t really about her husband. Maybe it was about her—trying to reconcile the woman she used to be with the mother she was becoming. Because, let me tell you, there were days when I looked in the mirror and barely recognized the body staring back at me. And it’s not just about the stretch marks or sagging—it’s about mourning who I was, even as I celebrate who I am now.

Motherhood has a way of doing that—of changing you in ways you don’t expect. And sometimes, those changes are mirrored back to you in the most unexpected places, like a part-time job you took just for the discount.

The Evolution of Identity Through Motherhood

I thought I knew what was coming. Before my first child, I understood that motherhood would change me—that it would shift the way I thought, loved, and moved through the world. But what I didn’t anticipate was how completely and subtly I would lose parts of myself in the process. I thought I understood how to be the mom I wanted to be, but I didn’t realize what that meant for who I was beyond that title.

Motherhood hit like a tidal wave. From the moment I held my baby, I committed fully to being the best mom I could be. I wanted to be present, to do all the “right” things, to follow the rules I’d carefully researched. I poured everything into that identity, often without realizing it. And yet, for all my efforts, I still felt unprepared—drowning in the pressure to know everything, to get it all right, to live up to the expectations I’d unknowingly placed on myself.

At first, I thought I was doing a good job of balancing. I told myself that I hadn’t “lost” myself, because I still squeezed in time for a workout here, a coffee date with friends there. But looking back, I can see how those moments were fleeting, how they were swallowed by the endless demands of parenting, the isolation of my husband’s out-of-state job, and the lack of support I had as a first-time mom. I was surviving, yes—but thriving? Hardly.

No one tells you how easy it is to let yourself disappear in motherhood. You don’t even realize it’s happening, because the demands are constant, the decisions unrelenting. Breastfeed or bottle-feed? Daycare or stay-at-home? Vaccinate on schedule or delay? Every choice feels monumental, scrutinized by a society that holds mothers to impossible standards. And somewhere in the chaos, the hobbies, interests, and pieces of myself that once defined me faded into the background.

Becoming a mother felt like jumping into a deep pool without knowing how far the bottom was—and yet, promising everyone you’d touch it before coming up for air. That pressure to “do it all” was suffocating, and with each passing year, I found myself questioning: Am I even on the right path? Who am I now?

And then came the twins when my oldest was 3 years old adding to the inability for me to take a breathe or find time for myself. By the time I was five years into motherhood, I realized I hadn’t stopped to really see myself in years. By then, I had given so much to my children, to my family, that I hardly recognized the woman staring back at me in the mirror. My identity had been woven so tightly into the role of “mom” that I wasn’t sure where that role ended and I began.

But here’s the thing: I don’t think I ever intentionally abandoned myself. I didn’t set out to lose the parts of me that loved reading late into the night, going to dinner with friends, or diving headfirst into creative projects. It wasn’t a conscious choice—it was a slow erosion, a quiet sacrifice made day by day, decision by decision.

Motherhood, for all its beauty and love, demands transformation. But it’s also a reckoning—a journey to balance who you were before kids with who you are becoming. And that’s where I’ve found myself now: trying to reclaim the pieces I’ve let go of, while holding onto the ones I’ve gained.

It’s not easy. But for the first time, I was asking myself: Who am I, outside of being a mom? And I think that was a question worth exploring.

The Emotional and Physical Realities of Postpartum Life

After I had my first baby, everything about my body felt… different. I look back now, four kids deep, and chuckle at the irony. The body I thought was “a shell of myself” back then? I’d give anything to be that “fat” again. It wasn’t just physical, though; it was the first time I felt a shift in how I saw myself. I was nursing, so my body went through this cycle of engorged to deflated and back again, like a balloon that couldn’t decide if it wanted to float or not. I noticed, for the first time, a little bit of loose skin—so small it was probably invisible to anyone else. But to me? It felt like proof that I was losing a part of myself.

I still wore bikinis occasionally, but even that felt different. The sense of loss lingered. It wasn’t just about the changes to my body; it was about the loss of the version of me I thought I knew.

At the same time, I was navigating this monumental life change with what felt like a small army of friends also having babies. You’d think that would make everything easier, right? But even in the midst of shared milestones, I often felt so alone. I didn’t live near my mom, and while she was an absolute saint and flew up every weekend for eight weeks straight, I didn’t have the kind of support where someone could just drop everything and be there at a moment’s notice. My husband was working in upstate New York while I was in Kansas City, leaving me to figure out the day-to-day of motherhood on my own.

And oh, 26-year-old me thought she could conquer it all. I went back to work after just 10 weeks, convinced I was ready. One friend—who had just had her second child—kept gently asking, Are you sure? She couldn’t believe I was diving back in so soon or that my husband had left me to navigate this alone. But I was so determined, so sure I was unstoppable. I mean, isn’t that what your 20s are for? Believing you know everything and can handle it all?

Now, with the wisdom of hindsight and more than a few battle scars, I wish I could go back and hug that girl. I wish I could tell her, It’s okay to admit you’re tired. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to not be okay. But back then, I didn’t know how to set boundaries, how to say, I can’t do this right now, without feeling like I was failing.

Motherhood has this way of teaching you things you didn’t even know you needed to learn. It showed me how to draw lines, how to protect my energy, how to recognize when I was running on empty. But it wasn’t instant, and it wasn’t easy.

The truth is, when first-time moms set boundaries, they’re often misunderstood. People see it as selfish or ungrateful, but most of the time, it’s coming from a place of survival. It’s because we’re trying to figure out this huge life change—mentally, physically, emotionally—and we’re just doing the best we can with what we have.

Looking back, I see the beginning of that journey in myself—the exhaustion I didn’t know how to articulate, the overwhelming sense that I had to keep up appearances. It takes time, age, and experience to learn that setting boundaries isn’t selfish; it’s essential.

If I could tell any young mom just starting out one thing, it would be this: you’re not alone, and it’s okay to take care of yourself. The body changes, the exhaustion, the isolation—they’re all part of the story. And while you may not recognize yourself now, one day, you’ll look back and see a woman who grew stronger, wiser, and more compassionate—not just toward others, but toward herself.

The Value of Sisterhood and Community

In those early years of motherhood, I was so grateful for the hospital support groups. That’s where it all began for me. Sitting in a room with women I didn’t know, all of us navigating the same unfamiliar terrain, trying to figure out if the latch was correct or if it was normal for your nipples to feel like they were on fire. (Spoiler: it wasn’t supposed to feel that bad, and, yes, there were ways to fix it.) We shared our tears, our fears, and every unpolished moment. There was something magical about having a space where we could be raw and real with each other.

But as I moved through the early stages of motherhood—babies, then toddlers—I realized something that changed everything for me: the importance of multigenerational relationships. Yes, it was life-giving to have my girlfriends who were in the trenches with me. We could cry over sleepless nights and laugh over the absurdity of teething disasters. But having women who were five, ten, even fifteen years ahead in their motherhood journeys? That was invaluable.

These seasoned moms were like a lighthouse in the storm. They didn’t sugarcoat the hard stuff, but they also reminded me I wouldn’t be stuck in this phase forever. They shared tips I hadn’t considered—ways to take care of myself physically, emotionally, and mentally—when it felt like I was being pulled in every direction. Their encouragement was a lifeline, helping me believe, even on the hardest days, that I’d come out the other side intact.

Now, here I am, smack in the middle of a phase I like to call “overwhelmed and overstimulated.” I still have one in pull-ups, but I’m also on the cusp of raising a teenager. Everyone in my house has emotions (big ones!), including me. I’m balancing marriage, a career, my passions, and the everyday chaos of raising four kids. Some days it feels like I’m a referee, chef, therapist, and chauffeur all rolled into one.

But even in this stage, I still lean on my older friends. They remind me that, while this phase feels never-ending, it will pass faster than I think. One day, they tell me, the house will be quiet, and while I might finally get some physical rest, the mental toll of worrying about my young adult children will replace it. They help me appreciate where I am now: the snuggles on the couch, the bedtime routines, and the moments of control I still have over who my kids are spending time with.

It’s because of these friendships—this sisterhood—that I cherish this messy, exhausting season a little more. And that’s the thing about sisterhood: it doesn’t have to look perfect. Sometimes it’s the friend you only manage to call every six months or the one who sends you a meme that makes you laugh out loud in the school pick-up line. Sisterhood isn’t about how often you connect; it’s about knowing that they’re there when you need them.

If you’re a mom who feels alone, I encourage you to start your journey to find your people. I know it’s hard—making mom friends can feel like dating all over again, but without the fun cocktails. Yet, with all the community groups and social media platforms now, there are so many ways to connect. And it’s worth it.

Your people—your sisterhood—will be the ones who understand exactly what you’re going through. They’ll cry with you, laugh with you, and remind you that no matter how overwhelmed or overstimulated you feel, you’re doing an incredible job. And when you can’t see it in yourself, they’ll see it for you. That’s what sisterhood is all about.

Reclaiming Yourself in Motherhood

When my oldest turned five, I saw it—clear as day. I had fallen into the abyss of motherhood. It wasn’t intentional, of course. Like so many moms, I’d started with the best of intentions. After the twins were born, I was so overwhelmed by having three kids under the age of three that I decided to stay home for “just a year.” That year turned into more than I planned, and suddenly, I’d been at home long enough for my son to outgrow his toddler shoes, and I barely recognized myself.

At first, it felt manageable. I was in survival mode, moving through endless cycles of laundry, feeding schedules, and toddler activities. The twins were starting to walk, which was adorable until I realized I was chasing them in opposite directions. Playdates sounded like a good idea in theory, but the thought of packing three kids, the stroller, the diaper bags, and snacks—and then trying to make coherent conversation with other moms—was overwhelming. By the time I got everyone out the door, I was too exhausted to actually enjoy it.

To make matters more complicated, we had moved to a new city and state, far from the friends and routine I’d known. My husband was still in the military and working on his executive MBA, which meant he was often away. I was managing three small kids, trying to keep our marriage alive (which can feel nearly impossible when you’re this tired), and figuring out what my next step would be. Did I want to go back to being a therapist in this new state? Or did I want to find a new path? All I knew was that I wanted something to change.

When things felt particularly overwhelming, I’d escape to Manhattan to visit my sister. She was the cool, hip New York City aunt who lived her child-free life in museums and parks. On the weekends when my husband wasn’t home, she’d whisk my kids away on little adventures while I slept, catching a rare moment of peace.

But even in those moments of rest, I realized something important: I wanted to feel joy again. I wanted to rediscover the version of me who felt happy, confident, and fulfilled. The first step to that was simple but incredibly hard: I needed help.

Finding Balance and Joy Again

My journey started with therapy. Yes! Therapist have therapist too! I found a wonderful therapist in my area who validated what I was feeling and reminded me that my exhaustion wasn’t a sign of failure—it was a sign of just how much I was giving. She helped me rediscover ways to prioritize self-care, embrace my passions, and accept the beautifully messy imperfections of motherhood.

Here’s what worked for me, and what I hope helps you too:

1. Give Yourself Permission to Seek Help
   Whether it’s a therapist, a supportive friend, or your partner, allow yourself to lean on others. Motherhood can feel isolating, but you don’t have to do it all alone. Therapy gave me the space to feel seen and to start thinking about what I needed beyond diapers and snack schedules.

2. Make Time for Self-Care—Even if It’s Tiny
   Self-care doesn’t have to be spa days (though that would be nice). Sometimes it’s locking yourself in the bathroom for five minutes of silence. It’s saying yes to the workout class or taking a nap instead of folding the laundry. Start small, but do it consistently. My mom used to come home from work, give us a quick hug, and say, "I’m going to my room for 30 minutes. Do not knock on the door—I’ll come out when I’m ready." Back then, I didn’t fully understand it, but now? I get it. She was setting boundaries, carving out a moment to breathe and reset, so she could come back to us as her best self. And honestly, it’s one of the most valuable lessons she ever taught me.

3. Rediscover What Brings You Joy
   What did you love before kids? Was it reading? Painting? Running? For me, it started with something small—cookie decorating. At first, it was just a creative outlet, a way to shift my focus from the endless demands of motherhood to something joyful and satisfying. Then it grew into writing, a passion I had always loved but hadn’t made time for in years. And then came the Disney Instagram account, which completely changed my life. Slowly, I began carving out little pockets of time to pursue these things that made me feel like me again. Each moment felt like a step toward rediscovering a part of myself I had forgotten. It wasn’t just about the activities themselves—it was about the joy, the sense of purpose, and the quiet reminder that I wasn’t just a mom. I was still me.

4. Embrace the Messy Moments
   Motherhood is full of imperfections. The house won’t always be spotless, and your body might not always feel like it’s your own. But those stretch marks? They’re a testament to the life you’ve created. Those chaotic mornings? One day, they’ll be the memories that make you smile and laugh.

   At this point, “It is what it is” has become my life’s mantra. It’s not about giving up; it’s about embracing the messy, beautiful reality of motherhood and letting go of the need for perfection.

5. Celebrate the Small Victories
   Did you get all three kids out the door without tears (yours or theirs)? Celebrate it. Did you drink your coffee while it was still warm? That’s a win! Learning to find joy in the little things made a big difference for me.

Loving Yourself Through It All

Rediscovering joy doesn’t happen overnight. For me, it was a series of small but significant steps. Therapy helped me unpack the unrealistic expectations I had for myself. Self-care taught me that I couldn’t pour from an empty cup. And my journey toward body acceptance helped me see that my worth isn’t tied to a number on a scale or how my jeans fit.

Motherhood is messy, exhausting, and overwhelming—but it’s also beautiful. If you’re feeling stuck, I encourage you to take that first step. Ask for help. Find a supportive group of friends or a therapist. Start with one small thing that brings you joy and build from there.

Because the truth is, you’re not just a mom. You’re a whole, vibrant person who deserves to feel joy again. And one day, when you look back on this season, I hope you’ll see not just the challenges but the incredible strength it took to overcome them. You’re doing amazing—even on the hard days.

Encouragement for New Moms (or Future Moms)

So now it’s my turn to be your big sister, your multigenerational friend, the one who’s here to remind you that you are not alone in this journey. Whether you’re a brand-new mom, an expectant mom, or even a seasoned mom navigating a fresh challenge, let me tell you this: you will get through 100% of your hardest days. But here’s the key—you don’t have to do it alone. Asking for help when you’re struggling is not weakness; it’s wisdom.

Let me share something I’ve learned the hard way: postpartum struggles don’t follow a neat timeline. I didn’t experience postpartum depression or anxiety with my first three kids. I thought I had dodged that bullet for good. But when my fourth came along? It hit me like a ton of bricks. I wasn’t new to motherhood, but it didn’t matter—hormones, exhaustion, and life had a way of catching up with me. What I’m saying is, it can happen to anyone, no matter how experienced you are or what phase of life you’re in. The sooner you acknowledge that your emotions or hormones feel “off,” the sooner you can ask for the help you need—and deserve.

Motherhood isn’t a one-size-fits-all experience. Some women bond with their babies immediately, while others need more time to feel that connection—and both are completely normal. I remember nursing my first baby and feeling like a total rockstar. Then along came my first daughter, who hunted for my nipple like a chicken in the dark. It took us a solid four months to find our rhythm, and let me tell you, those four months felt like an eternity. But we got there, and you will too.

One of the most important lessons I’ve learned—and the one I want to pass on to you—is the power of boundaries. Boundaries are a form of self-love, and they’re critical in motherhood. Have boundaries that protect your time, your energy, and your mental health. And make sure you have a partner who not only respects those boundaries but actively protects them, too. You need someone who sees your worth, who steps up when you’re overwhelmed, and who reminds you that you’re not in this alone.

Here’s the truth, friend: there will be days that feel impossible, moments where you question if you’re doing anything right. But those moments? They will pass. And on the other side of them, you’ll see the strength you never knew you had.

You are doing better than you think, and you are stronger than you realize. Give yourself grace, celebrate the small wins (like drinking your coffee while it’s still hot), and know that it’s okay to not have it all figured out.

You’ve got this. And on the days you feel like you don’t, know that I—and so many other moms—are here, rooting for you, every step of the way. You’re not alone, and you never have to be.