The Identity Shift

Ever feel like you lost yourself the moment you became a mom? I certainly did. 

For years while I was growing up, my dad had this theory: Every five years or so, I'd fundamentally change. For years, I was adamant that he was wrong. "I'm always going to be me, Dad!" I'd insist.

But then motherhood hit, and "I" was nowhere to be found.

I heard my dad’s theory first as a teenager, buzzing with newfound freedom. I was just about to enter grade ten which would bring parties, driving and going places without an adult — life was evolving, but I couldn't fathom changing at fifteen. "I'm always going to be me, Dad!" I declared.

Five years later, at twenty, navigating college and the precipice of adulthood, I found myself across the kitchen table from my dad once again. My biggest worries were elective choices, affording cider at the college bar, trying to keep my apartment clean while maintaining a social life and figuring out a "big girl" job based on the program I took. I was frustrated, trying to piece together my life's puzzle. “Remember how I said you'd change every five years or so?" my dad asked. I dutifully responded, "Yes, Dad, but I'm always going to be me."

Then came twenty-five. I was pregnant with my first child. My anxieties shifted from career paths to the limited outfit selection for boys compared to girls, perfecting my son’s nursery, crafting postpartum supply carts, and figuring out how to afford Starbucks on mat leave. My dad brought up his theory a third time. This time with a different lens. He explained that this time, this change wouldn’t necessarily be driven by me. I still didn’t understand the concept of changing. I thanked my dad for dinner and told him one last time that I was always going to be me. 

At twenty-six, my son was born and my familiar refrain of always going to be myself became a lie. This time, the change wasn't just happening around me; it was happening to me. When I became a mom, I wasn't just "me" anymore. What I was experiencing wasn’t the excitement of a college girl running parallel to the fear of an unknown adult world.  This time, I felt the more I discovered about the world of motherhood, the more I got lost. 

Before motherhood, I was passive and people pleasing. I never had the motivation to get into a direct conflict with someone. It was always easier to just agree or accept and then complain about how I really felt to my friends instead later.

When I had my son, out of all the things I felt lost about, the one thing I had easily found was my voice. I felt this instinctual drive to set boundaries and protect my son - at whatever cost. Having this new voice felt uncomfortable for a long time. I didn’t feel as predictable to myself and I often didn’t recognize myself anymore. 

Finding that voice came with some serious collateral damage. Ruffling feathers? Oh, I did more than ruffle. I bulldozed. I went from being utterly complacent to unleashing my inner mama bear. Think: "I don't care if all five of your kids have an iron-tight immune system from being passed around like Simba at every church service since birth, Karen. Keep your germ-infested hands away from my newborn."

Could fifteen-year-old me ever have imagined that coming out of my mouth? Absolutely not. She'd probably have called me "uptight." And you know what? By my old standards, I was uptight. But as an almost thirty-year-old mom, I don't see "uptight." I see boundaries. I see expectations. And frankly, I see peace.

It took me a long time to accept that speaking my mind and setting boundaries was okay. I used to consider myself the bad guy for having less patience than the passive version of myself did. I’ve come to realize that advocating for myself by setting boundaries doesn’t make me the bad guy. Other people shouldn’t be making unwelcome comments or putting another mom down in the first place. 

I also came to the realization that I earned my right to mother the way I want to in peace. Not like I needed to “earn it” but I did. Like all moms, I sacrificed a lot to become a mother. First, I pushed an 11 cm head out of a 10 cm hole. So there was no way on that sheer basis alone that I wanted to be challenged on how I wanted to raise that human after I grew and exited him from my body all by myself without their feedback. P.s I didn’t have time for the epidural.

I ate entire rotisserie chickens for lunch growing that little dude - ew. I also got IV iron infusions trying to create him. Plus, I lost interest in my favourite Starbucks drink. The thought of my beloved iced chai lattes revolted me. I also, like many, went through lots of obstacles during my first year postpartum. 

So, all things considered, when I was told my son didn't sleep because I dared to rock him instead of letting him cry it out, or that I "just didn't try hard enough" with breastfeeding (a journey I poured everything into for five months of exclusive pumping and lots of lactation consultations before finally switching to formula for our sanity and my health, a decision I wish I'd made sooner), my patience evaporated. And don't even get me started on the comments about "just letting my anxiety go" because it was supposedly making my child "suffer” from not exposing him to more allergens. The people saying that weren't the ones holding an unresponsive baby in their arms after a first attempt at cow's protein, or rushing to the emergency room after an egg reaction. They didn't live through the sleepless nights, the relentless self-blame, or the gut wrenching fear those experiences brought us.

It took me a long time and lots of therapy to realize how impacted I was by the pressures and expectations of motherhood. I couldn’t understand why I was so angry. Like I said before, I used to be so passive and people pleasing. Why all of a sudden did I “people hate”? Why couldn’t I just go back to suppressing how I really felt like I did before. After all, I had more people around that way. 

The conclusion that I came to is that there isn’t any getting around motherhood changing you. You see things differently because the big things overshadow the little things in life. Your peace needs to be protected so much more because your capacity narrows. I came to a point where I knew I had to let people choose whether they wanted to accept the person I became or not - and I had to make peace with their choice. 

Becoming a mom made me realize how much the old version of me needed to change. How much I needed to be someone different. Remember at the beginning how I told you that I sat down with my dad to hear his theory for the first time at fifteen? That’s almost thirteen years of my life I can remember just letting people walk all over me. Having no boundaries. Never speaking my piece. 

‘The moment you become passive in your daily life, or conscious life, the body matches that and the passive immunity reduces.’ - Dr. Mate 

Dr. Mate explained this as part of his response in an article Women’s Health wrote on the correlation between anger suppression and the development of autoimmune diseases. You know who is a living proof of that theory? Me, my hand is up. 

Sometimes an "identity shift" sounds drastic, like something to fear. Losing yourself feels inherently bad. For me, losing myself was the best thing that happened to me. I made space for becoming someone that does advocate for herself. When I meet new people now, they’ll have the choice up front that they either respect my boundaries or they don’t. Quality over quantity as they say right? 

Maybe for you, it wasn’t going from being passive to direct. Maybe your change was something else that made you feel like you lost yourself.

My theory is this. Perhaps motherhood is a powerful mirror, drawing attention to the parts of ourselves we should let go of, creating space to grow new parts that serve us better. It's not about losing; it's about evolving into the person you were always meant to be.