What Is Different Mama?

Before I became a mom, I thought I knew what it would mean to be one. OK, I didn’t think I really understood the whole experience, how it would feel day to day or year to year. But I knew moms. I have a mom, I had a mother-in-law, I had friends who had become parents. It looked like a hard, fun, rewarding add-on to a person’s life, like a very time-consuming hobby. I thought to myself, “I think I can do that.”

I was right: I can do it. But hoo boy, was I ever wrong about the rest of it.

For me, motherhood has been transformative, in the best and worst ways. It’s not a fun side-project that I added to my life; it’s a whole new life, with new priorities, new routines, new values and a ton of new knowledge, some of which I was totally unprepared to learn. It’s overwhelming, and it’s easy to spend so much time focused on these tiny people you have to keep alive that you don’t remember to look at yourself every once in awhile. I say this not in a “take time for self-care” way (though that’s hard to do too), but in a “take time to learn who you are now” way. I’m 8 years into this motherhood thing, and I’m only now figuring out who this new me is — and how to love the person I’ve become.

I think part of what made it hard for me to keep myself in focus during those first years is the very strict ideas about motherhood I absorbed throughout my life. My own mom did it all growing up: working, raising my sister and I pretty much alone, keeping the house clean, making meals, all of it. Most of my friends’ moms did, too. So did the moms I saw on TV or read about in books. To be a mom meant to devote yourself to your family and your home.

That sounds like a good thing, right? There’s just one problem: Spending all your time worrying about your kids and your partner doesn’t allow you to think of yourself. There’s always another runny nose, another pair of shoes they outgrew, another room to clean, an endless supply of dishes in the sink. At some point along the way, I stopped doing things that brought me joy. I lost track of what those things even were, and I couldn’t find the path back to them.

What I’m learning now is that there is no path back to them. I’ve outgrown some of my favorite pastimes (hello, closing down dive bars), and in the last year or two, I’ve found some new ones (have you tried ceramics? It’s right next to actual therapy imo). There’s no going back — I have to make my own path forward.

Writing, though, has been a constant in my life, ever since I first learned to spin a story. I’ve spent the years since I became a mom feeling like I have nothing interesting to say — when you lose sight of who you are, it’s easy to feel like you have nothing to contribute. But I’m coming back to myself now, and I want to document it. To celebrate this life, with all its ups and downs and the middle parts in-between.

The old me isn’t totally gone. I miss her sometimes. I miss how she stayed up late, how devoted she was to writing, how she knew everything about the latest music and TV shows and pop culture. But wow, would she ever suck at the life I’m living now. I’m not her anymore — but I’m no stereotype of motherhood, either. I am the person I need to be, the person I want to be. I’m a Different Mama.

I hope you are too.