Becoming a mother can feel like losing yourself

You may picture motherhood as adding a new layer to your identity. In reality, it shakes the ones you've already built.

You become a mom, but you're still the partner, the professional, the friend, the person who keeps everything else running. And when it all gets too much, it's easy to wonder why you can't handle what everyone else seems to manage.

I know that feeling.

At the time, I thought I was exhausted. Overwhelmed. Adjusting. It took months to understand that I was struggling with isolation, shame, and losing track of who I was.

When I was pregnant for the first time, we had been living abroad for a couple of years. Our life was full of exploring, meetups, and adventures. We'd built a new circle, but no one had kids yet, and I had no mom friends in Singapore, my host country.

I read a book about parenthood and kept working full speed through my pregnancy. One Friday, I worked until 8pm, ordered dinner in the cab home, and my water broke as I settled into our apartment.

I don't think anyone is ever fully ready. I certainly wasn't.

Uncovering the weight

I felt an immediate bond with our little one, and suddenly nothing mattered more. I was lucky to experience that. Not everyone does, and my heart goes out to those who struggle to find that connection.

But motherhood brought plenty of other challenges I hadn't anticipated.

The physical recovery was rough. When I talk with other mothers, I recognize that most of us struggle in some form. The stories are never the same. While I was going through it, I felt utterly alone. From where I stood, there were only moms with newborns who seemed fit and healthy, going for walks with their strollers or joining yoga classes. My physical therapist was the one who gave me a more realistic picture of what many women endure, and a more hopeful outlook on my long-term recovery.

Then there's the mental load. You remind yourself how beautiful it is to care for this tiny little person. How much they need you, how much you love them. But they demand more than you ever imagined. They don't let you sleep.

Your body is no longer yours. Your time isn't yours either. And your energy is gone. Not drained. Gone.

But you still have to keep functioning for your child who depends on you. It's Groundhog Day every day, and sometimes it seems endless.

When you're used to being capable and independent, losing the autonomy you once took for granted is maddening. With a baby, the rules keep changing. Just when you've figured something out, there's something new. And often nothing you do seems to work.

There's the guilt that shows up when you're frustrated, impatient, or simply don't know what you're doing yet. The quiet shift in your relationship as a couple. The grief of missing your old self.

I think there's a lot of shame involved as well. Maybe that's one of the main reasons we don't talk about this experience much. Because motherhood is so common, our self-talk can turn brutal: She can handle it. Why can't I? A good mother wouldn't feel this way. What's wrong with me?

Rather than seeking help, we isolate ourselves more.

Sometimes, what looks like exhaustion or overwhelm can be a sign that someone needs professional support. It's hard to know where that line is, which is another reason we need to talk about this more openly.

Never alone, but lonely

We carry an idealized image of motherhood: coffee with friends while the baby lies peacefully in the stroller, or attending meetings while the baby naps. The reality can look a lot more like survival mode.

I have never met a mom who told me it was a walk in the park.

During early motherhood, you are almost never physically alone, and yet it can be one of the loneliest periods of your life. Even with a loving and supportive partner, there are parts they can't experience for you.

If we believe we're supposed to be coping, admitting that we're not can make us feel like we've failed.

So we don't talk about it, and we don't get the chance to discover that we're far from alone.

I found my community eventually. It took almost two years. Looking back, I can hardly believe how clueless I was about how much I needed it. That kind of support can be strangely invisible until you're looking for it, and then suddenly you see it everywhere.

It felt incredibly reassuring and encouraging once I had that circle. They showed me that it was okay to find this hard. Maybe that's what we underestimate most: you can love your child deeply and still struggle with the experience. Both can be true at the same time.

The hats we keep wearing

Then there's your identity.

You spend years building who you are, and then, in the blink of an eye, you're a parent. Like many, I just added "mom" on top of everything I already was: wife, leader, a person who said yes to every event and every deadline.

It never occurred to me that I could put something down.

So I tried to carry it all and assumed that was simply what capable women do.

We often hear that being a parent is a full-time job. Would you ever start another full-time job on top of your current one?

That instinct to do both may stem from the familiar promise that we can have it all. It sounds empowering until we realize that time, energy, and attention are finite. I wrote about that here.

I made choices along the way. Some were planned; others were more forced than chosen. I don't think we need to prepare for everything, but I believe we can and should be gentler with ourselves. Less pressure and performance, more compassion and support.

Realizing that we can take some of our hats off is liberating.

Another identity shift

With our second baby, I left the corporate world to start my own business. On paper, it looked like freedom. More flexibility, more alignment with my values, and work that was entirely mine.

What I didn't expect was another identity shift, quieter than the first. My "employee" hat, which had defined so much of my confidence and sense of belonging, was gone. No team, no title, no org chart telling me where I fit in. Again, I had to build a new sense of who I was.

I recognized the feeling. It was the same disorientation from years earlier.

Whenever something fundamental changes, we can find ourselves between identities. The old version no longer works, but the new one hasn't settled yet.

That can happen with parenthood, changing careers, moving countries, beginning or ending a relationship, or entering a new chapter of life. Even when the change is something we wanted, it can still leave us surprisingly unsteady.

There is one difference, though. Many transitions come with a kind of built-in permission to wobble. People expect it, and you might even be admired for taking the leap.

Motherhood carries the opposite expectation. You're supposed to have it figured out, enjoy it, and feel grateful for it, even as it reaches into every part of your life at once: your body, your mind, your relationships, your time, your work. When it isn’t what you imagined, the shame runs deeper. Struggling with something you wanted leaves you wondering what that says about you.

What would help

When you're in the middle of an identity change, you need space. Permission to let some things go. Connection with people who've been there. And honest conversations about what you're going through.

And with parenthood, we don't have to wait to start supporting each other. Most of us know someone who is thinking about having a baby, hoping to have one, expecting one, or has recently become a mom. Here's where I think we could do a little better.

• If you're a partner: Don't just share tasks or offer to help. Take over full responsibility for something, whether that's bath time, meal planning, or whatever it is, so it's genuinely off her plate. And protect a regular window where she gets to exist without the baby.

• If you're a leader: Discuss flexible arrangements before someone has to ask for them. Offer support proactively rather than waiting for a request that might never come.

• If you're a friend: Keep showing up. Bring food. Sit on her sofa. Don't disappear because you assume she has enough going on. She probably does. That's exactly why she needs you.

• If you're thinking about having a baby or expecting: Seek out honest conversations with parents. Follow accounts that talk about the entire experience, not just the highlights. Most of your experience will still surprise you, but you can make sure you have people to lean on.

• If you already have kids: Prepare your friends who don't have them yet. Talk about the heavy stuff, not just the cheerful milestones.

• Everybody: Stop pretending having a child is easy. Talking about the hard moments doesn't mean loving your children less.

• And to yourself, whenever you're in a season like this: Be patient and be kind to yourself. You don't have to carry every hat at once, and setting one down doesn't mean losing it forever.

You won't go back to who you were before. The work is learning which parts of that person you want to keep and which ones you're ready to release.

It takes far longer than anyone tells you. But eventually, the pieces start to fit again. Not because you've found your way back, but because you're finding your way forward.

Keep shining,
Yvonne

Hi, I’m Yvonne 👋

I support people in career, leadership, and life transitions when they need space to think things through, navigate challenges, or decide what comes next. If that's you, I'm here: → Get in touch

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