No, I’m Not ‘Back to My Old Self’. I’m Finding Someone Better!

There’s a version of me I used to know.

She had rhythm. She had a fire. She got dressed in the morning just because it made her feel good. She made time for herself, not as a reward, not as a luxury, but as a normal, necessary part of her day.

Then I became a mom. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything. But no one told me how hard it would be to hold onto her, the version of me who existed before everyone needed something from me all the time.

This summer, I’ve had my six-year-old daughter and nine-year-old son home with me all day, every day. I also work from home, which sounds flexible, and it is, technically. But what it really means is I’m on call from the moment my eyes open to the moment they close, juggling Zoom meetings and snack requests, deadlines and meltdowns, grocery lists and the guilt of too much screen time. There’s always something. Always someone.

And in the middle of that noise, it’s easy to forget about me.

It’s easy to wake up and think, what’s the point of getting ready? I’m not going anywhere. No one’s going to see me. There are lunches to make and arguments to settle and messes to clean up before I even open my laptop.

But about two weeks ago, I got tired of feeling invisible, even to myself.

So I made a quiet promise: I’m going to get ready for the day. Every day. Not for an event. Not for someone else. Just for me.

And I kept that promise.

I started putting on clothes that made me feel good, even if no one saw me. I did my hair, even if it got messy by noon. I wore earrings, even if they were the only shiny thing I touched that day.

It wasn’t about looking a certain way. It was about feeling like I existed outside of my responsibilities. It was a small act of rebellion against the idea that I had to earn my own care.

And honestly? It woke something up in me.

That waking up didn’t start with motherhood. It actually started when I walked away from a relationship that wasn’t good for me, a relationship that made me second-guess my worth, my instincts, my voice. It was the kind of connection that slowly chips away at how you see yourself, until you start to shrink without even realizing it. You start viewing yourself through someone else’s distorted lens: too much, not enough, hard to love.

Leaving that relationship wasn’t easy. But it was necessary. And when it ended, I began the slow, quiet process of looking in the mirror again, not just literally, but emotionally. I had to start asking: Who am I without the noise of someone else’s opinion? Who am I when no one is watching?

The answer wasn’t immediate. It still isn’t.

But every day that I show up for myself, even in small ways, I get a little closer to her.

The real me.

The me before life got heavy.

The me within the weight, not just the one before it.

Motherhood doesn’t erase who you are. It adds to you, but it’s easy to forget that when everything feels like it’s subtracting from your energy, your time, your body, your peace.

Some days, I still feel lost in the blur of summer chaos, my kids arguing in the background while I’m on a work call, the guilt of too many snacks and too much screen time, the mental load of trying to be present and productive and patient. Some days, I snap. Some days, I cry. Some days, I phone it all in and hide in the bathroom for five minutes just to breathe.

But even on those days, I remind myself: I matter.

Not just as a mom. Not just as a provider.

As a woman. As a person. As me.

And I want my kids to see that, too.

I want my daughter to know that caring for yourself isn’t something you have to earn.

I want my son to know that women don’t stop existing when they become mothers.

I want me to remember that this version of my life doesn’t cancel out every other version of myself that still deserves to live.

So if you’re in the thick of it right now, motherhood, heartbreak, working from home with kids at your feet and cereal under your desk, please hear me when I say: you’re still in there. Even if you haven’t seen yourself clearly in a while. Even if you feel like you’ve been surviving more than living.

You don’t need a special reason to pour into yourself.

You don’t need to “earn” rest or joy or self-worth.

You don’t need anyone’s permission to feel beautiful, confident, alive again.

You just need to start.

One small step at a time.

Tomorrow, put something on that makes you feel a little more like you.

Do your hair. Play your favorite music. Make your coffee exactly the way you like it, and drink it hot, if you can. Look at yourself in the mirror and say: I’m still here.

Because you are.

And you’re more than enough.