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There’s a version of myself I sometimes visit in memory…
She has a wide-open calendar and is sleeping on the sand. She is carefree in spirit but disciplined about her goals. Her priorities are clean, ambitious, and beautifully self-contained. Her life belongs entirely to her.
Then motherhood happens.
Life before motherhood was a linear path. You set goals, you chase them. You become more of what you’ve always been working toward.
Life after motherhood feels less like a path and more like an atmosphere shift. The ground you used to sprint on softens. Priorities rearrange themselves without asking permission. There is no dramatic declaration, just small choices that stack:
Do I keep climbing the life I built for the woman I was? Do I build something new for the person I’m becoming—for the child watching me become it?
Before Motherhood
After Motherhood
And that does something to you. Not all at once, but slowly, daily, in every unnoticed decision.
Q: Are you still the same person?
A: The core is the same. The edges are different. Softer in some places, sharper in others. I outgrew parts of myself I thought I’d always carry.
Q: Do your old goals still matter to you?
A: Some do. Some don’t. Motherhood didn’t kill my ambition… it refined it.
Q: What surprised you the most?
A: How much I could hold. Love and frustration. Joy and grief for who I used to be. Pride and fear… often in the same breath.
Q: What do you want your child to see when they watch you live your life?
A: That I didn’t disappear inside motherhood. That I expanded. Expansion isn’t always graceful… but it’s real, and it’s honest.
There’s a cultural habit of talking about motherhood like a disappearance. Say goodbye to sleep. Say goodbye to freedom. Say goodbye to the person you used to be.
It’s taken me some time, but I’ve started to think about it differently: Motherhood didn’t erase me. It revealed a version of me I couldn’t have accessed any other way.
And what if the point isn’t just to become who you dreamed of being… what if it’s to expand into someone you never even thought to imagine?
Q: Do you ever miss your old self?
A: Sometimes. But I like this version better—she feels more anchored. Less easily swayed. There’s a strength here I didn’t have before.
Q: Has motherhood limited you?
A: In some ways, yes. But in others, it made me feel unstoppable. When your time and energy become precious, your focus becomes a weapon.
Q: What has motherhood taught you about ambition?
A: That ambition can coexist with tenderness. That building a life and raising a life don’t cancel each other out… they can inform each other.
Q: What do you see when you look at your life now?
A: Less polish, more meaning. Less perfection, more presence. And an idea that wasn’t there before: Maybe this version of me was the point all along.
Motherhood isn’t a before-and-after photo. It’s a slow, internal reorganization. Some shelves stay where they are. Some get rebuilt entirely.
And somewhere between the diaper changes and the late-night existential spirals, you realize: This isn’t a story of losing yourself. It’s a story of realizing you were capable of becoming more.