Nobody Told Me I'd Lose Myself in Motherhood.
There's a moment almost every mom knows but almost nobody names out loud. You're standing in the bathroom at 7am, toothbrush in hand, catching your own eyes in the mirror, and for a split second you think: who is that? Not in a dramatic way. Just… a quiet, unsettling unfamiliarity. Like you've been away on a very long trip and came home to find someone rearranged all the furniture
You love your kids. That part is not in question. But somewhere between the night feedings and the endless appointments and the losing track of what you even like to eat for lunch, you kind of… misplaced yourself.
There's actually a word for this. Italian anthropologist Dana Raphael coined it in 1973, and psychologist Aurelie Athan brought it back into the conversation: matrescence. The developmental passage a woman goes through when she becomes a mother. It's as seismic as adolescence, your brain literally rewires, your priorities reshape, your social circle shifts. And yet somehow, nobody puts it on the registry.
An Unknown Reflection
“Understanding that motherhood is the psychological and spiritual birth of a woman is the greatest story never told.”
Why This Happens (And Why It's Not Your Fault)
Matrescence is a full-body, full-identity reorganization. Your brain forms new neural pathways around attachment and threat-detection. Your social role shifts overnight. Your body looks and feels different. Your sleep, your friendships, your ambitions, your relationship — everything is in flux simultaneously. And instead of being given space to process this, you're handed a casserole and told to enjoy every moment. The result? Many moms end up in a strange grief they can't name. Not depression, not ingratitude — just a low-grade wondering: Is this it? Is this me now?
The Part They Really Don't Tell You
You're not supposed to just go back. That woman before kids was wonderful. But she was also you before this enormous, altering experience. Trying to 'get her back' is like trying to unlearn something profound. The goal isn't restoration. It's integration. The version of you who stays up for sick kids AND misses dancing AND feels guilty AND loves fiercely AND is sometimes bone-tired of being needed? She's not less than who you were before. She's more complex. More layered. And she deserves to be known.
Where to Start (Practically Speaking)
“You are allowed to be a devoted mother AND a full human being. These are not competing truths”
— Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
You don't need a solo trip to Bali or a full reinvention. Start smaller:
• Spend 10 minutes a week doing something you did before kids, read, draw, cook for fun, listen to an album start to finish.
• Journal without editing yourself. Not gratitude lists. Just: what am I feeling? What do I miss? What do I want? What do you still love about yourself?
• Call one friend who knew you before. Not to talk about the kids. Just to remember who you were, and who you're still becoming.
• Stop waiting to 'feel ready' to take up space again. That feeling is a moving target.
Next time you catch the woman in the mirror — don't look away. She may not look familiar right now, and that's okay. The old version of her was great. But who she's becoming? Absolutely amazing. Give her a chance, and just watch what happens