The Me Before, and the Me Now

There are moments when I catch a glimpse of the woman I was before motherhood — the one who slept until her body woke naturally, who could disappear into a book or a thought for hours, who moved through the day at her own pace. She feels both close and far away, like a friend I once knew deeply but haven’t spoken to in years.

Before motherhood, life felt wide and open. I could make plans and change them. My body was my own. My needs sat near the top of the list. I didn’t realise, then, how quiet my world was — how much empty space existed between one thought and the next.

And then came motherhood. A love so total it rearranged me from the inside out. It softened parts I didn’t know were hard and revealed edges I didn’t know I had. The pace of my days changed — not in the gentle, mindful way I once imagined, but in a relentless, heart-full rhythm of tending, teaching, holding, soothing.

Now, time feels different. I measure it not in hours or tasks, but in moments — the curl of small fingers around mine, the sound of laughter spilling down the hallway, the stillness when the house finally quiets. I am both more present and more scattered, more patient and more raw.

There’s grief, sometimes, for the woman I was — for her independence, her unbroken sleep, her creative freedom. But there’s also gratitude for the woman I’ve become. She carries more wisdom, more empathy, and more purpose than the one who came before. She knows what truly matters, even when she forgets for a while.

Motherhood has not replaced who I was; it has revealed new layers of who I am. Both versions live here, side by side — the before and the now — learning how to make space for each other.

And perhaps that’s the quiet work of this season of life: not trying to go back, but learning to belong fully to the woman we are becoming.