The mom you were before kids is still in there

You’re sitting in your college library writing a 15-page paper without AI, all coming from your beautiful brain. You’re looking up actual peer-reviewed journal articles, listening to “DJ Got Us Fallin’ in Love Again” by Usher through your wired headphones, and suddenly realize it’s time to stop thinking about your paper and text your roommates on your Blackberry or Sidekick about what you’re wearing that night.

Fast forward a few years, and you have your first real job. You’re “more mature” now, or so you think. You can stay out late, eat Taco Truck burritos at 2:00 a.m., sleep until 10:00, go to the gym, meet a friend for brunch, take a nap, read a book, and make yourself dinner in complete peace and quiet. You can do whatever you want, whenever you want, with absolutely no one asking you for a snack.

But maybe what you remember most isn’t even the partying. Maybe you remember the pottery class you took just because you thought it would be fun. The books you read because you actually wanted to. The creative projects you started and abandoned halfway through. The long walks. The dinners with friends. The thoughtful gifts you used to spend way too much time creating because you genuinely loved thinking about what would make someone else feel special. You did these things simply because they brought you joy.

And then the song comes on

And then, years later, you’re sitting in your car with your children. You love them more than anything, but you’re overstimulated. The whining, the questions, the touching, the fighting, the constant noise. For the first time in what feels like forever, you put on your Spotify playlist instead of Raffi. And then it happens: “DJ Got Us Fallin’ in Love Again” by Usher comes on.

For a few minutes, you’re not in the car anymore. You’re transported back to that younger version of yourself. You remember the late nights and spontaneous plans, but you also remember the pottery, the books, the friendships, the creativity, the things you did simply because they made you feel like you.

And then…shrieking scream. Someone dropped a toy. Someone needs a snack. Someone else is crying. You’re suddenly back in the car, back in motherhood, back to being needed by everyone. Except now you can’t stop thinking about her.

Not because you want your old life back. You don’t. You love your children deeply. But for three minutes and 34 seconds, you remembered you. Not Mom. Not someone’s wife. Not the person who knows where everyone’s shoes are, remembers every appointment, packs every bag and somehow knows which cup is the only acceptable cup. Just you.

maybe what you miss isn’t sleeping until 10 — maybe you miss belonging entirely to yourself

Maybe that version of you feels a little foreign now. Maybe she’s been buried underneath motherhood for a while. And maybe what you miss isn’t actually sleeping until 10:00 or going out until 2:00 a.m. Maybe you miss belonging entirely to yourself.

When the rest of you starts feeling optional

Motherhood changes you. Of course it does. You’re not supposed to be the exact same person you were at 22, 30, or 35. Your priorities change. Your responsibilities change. Your life changes. But somewhere along the way, the parts of ourselves that aren’t connected to motherhood can start feeling optional. The hobbies become optional. The friendships become optional. The books, the creativity, the career dreams, the music, the things you’re curious about, the things that make you laugh or feel interesting or alive. There is always something more important to do. And eventually, you can go so long without doing something simply because you enjoy it that you forget what those things even are.

As a therapist who works with women and mothers, I see how easy it is for our identities to slowly narrow after becoming a mom. Our days become organized around everyone else’s needs, and eventually we stop asking ourselves a very basic question: What do I need? Not what does my child need. Not what does my partner need. Not what does my family need. What do I need? What makes you feel creative? What makes you laugh? What makes you lose track of time? What makes you feel intellectually alive? What did you used to love doing simply because it was fun?

It doesn’t take a dramatic reinvention

And maybe rediscovering yourself doesn’t require some dramatic reinvention. Maybe you don’t need a solo trip to Italy or to quit your job and start a completely new life. Maybe you take the pottery class. Maybe you pick up the book you’ve been staring at on your nightstand. Maybe you make a ridiculously thoughtful gift for a friend because you remember how much you love doing that. Maybe you put on the music you used to love. Maybe you go to dinner with the friend who knew you before you had children. Maybe you try something completely new just because you’re curious.

The point isn’t to become who you were before kids. The point is to remember that she’s still in there.

This is for every season, not just the newborn one

And this isn’t just for the mom with a newborn or the mom in the thick of toddlerhood. It’s for the mom with elementary-aged kids, teenagers, adult children, and for women in their thirties, forties, fifties and beyond who are navigating completely different seasons of motherhood and life. Because motherhood is one part of you. It is not the entirety of you.

You can deeply love being a mother and still need something that belongs only to you. You can be grateful for your life and still miss parts of yourself. You can nurture your children while also nurturing the woman underneath the role. You don’t have to choose. You get to be both.

So the next time a song transports you back to another version of yourself, don’t rush to skip it. Stay there for a minute. Remember what she loved. Remember what made her laugh. Remember what made her feel creative, curious, thoughtful, adventurous, or simply alive. And then ask yourself: What part of her can I bring with me into the life I have now?

Because she isn’t gone.

She just might need a little watering.