Losing my identity

Before my daughter was born, I was my own person. When people thought of me, they thought only of me. They knew me as a wife, a colleague, a friend. They knew my interests, talked to me idly about current events and invited me to be a part of their lives. Since the birth of my daughter, all that has changed.

I am now a mother first, and I love that. But in many ways, I am a mother only. When people talk to me, it is to ask about my daughter. We can spend the entire conversation talking about her past, her present, her future, but never once talk about me.

When I visit someone, they look at my daughter long before they look at me. Sometimes they don't look at me at all.

Current events? I lost those in the haze of motherhood; of long days, unrelenting sleepless nights and piles of laundry strewn throughout my home. The focus is no longer on me. It is instead about my daughter; her needs, her milestones, her life.

For the most part, I don't mind. For the most part, I accept this as just a part of motherhood. For the most part.

But there are some days when I struggle to remember who I am. I feel that I lost myself somewhere along the way. It began when I was pregnant, slowly. At first it was about me, and how I was feeling, but as time marched on it became about the bump where my belly used to be. As it grew larger, I grew less. Less important. Less thought of. Less.

When I brought my daughter into the world, I realised my identity had become entrenched in hers. In the beginning, this was the most amazing feeling. I wasn't alone. I was a mother. And that could never be taken away from me.

But slowly, I realised I was losing who I was as an individual. Slowly, ever so slowly, until I realised I couldn't remember a life before my daughter. I couldn't remember how I used to fill my days, what it felt like or what made up my identity before I was known as mama.

Sometimes, I find myself questioning what makes me happy. What do I like? What interests me? WHO AM I? When the word "mama" is taken away, I struggle to remember what is left.

I know so many people say it is important to nurture yourself along the journey. It is important to take time out by yourself, for yourself. I agree, wholeheartedly I do. But sometimes it's not so easy. I haven't had a moment to myself since my daughter was born. The romantic fairy take of having time to myself while my daughter slept peacefully in her cot ceased to exist from the first time I brought her home and tried to put her in her down alone.and she cried...and cried...and cried...

Secretly I was happy that my baby didn't want to be in a cot. I was happy that she needed me. I loved to be needed. So we shared a bed. Every night. And I loved it. I still do. But then, I thought, I will have some time to myself during the day. I will feed my baby girl and place her in a snuggle bed next to me and I will know she's safe and she will feel content and I will spend some precious moments by myself. Some much-craved "me-time".

But my daughter had other ideas. She would not, and will not, sleep anywhere but my arms. No matter how asleep, or how tired, as soon as I try to move her from my arms, she wakes. Life has dealt my baby girl her own challenges, including colic and wind and reflux. I know this is another reason that she needs me. And her needs will always come first, as they should.

The result is showering, sleeping and even going to the bathroom are "shared" experiences. I have always been a private person and I must admit I still find it unnerving, albeit essential. I still find it difficult, but we must do what is necessary to get by.

I know mental illness plays a role in how I feel. I've always needed some me time, some quiet time alone to reflect, to get my head straight and move forward. I need time to recharge. It's not optional, it is essential for me.

The reality is, my daughter doesn't stop needing her mother just because my head isn't in the right place. Pre-motherhood, when I had a really bad day I could choose to stay in bed. That is no longer an option. If life got to be too much, I could give myself a time out from life. I can't do that anymore.

And it feels like my feelings don't matter any more. No matter what I feel or how I feel or why I feel it, it seems as though I have no right to feel that way. That I must push those feelings aside to be a constant for my daughter.

But it's not that easy. I have feelings, too, and even if they aren't logical, they are real. I have bad days, just as I always did, only now I'm not allowed to indulge myself in them. Now I have to be a constant even when I don't feel that way.

I wish I didn't feel this way, but I am being honest. I wonder how many others don't speak of their feelings for the fear of judgement. For the fear that feeling lost and feeling unworthy and feeling disheartened somehow makes them less of a parent.

It does not. It makes you human.

Is it my issue? Unequivocally yes, it is. Never for a moment am I saying, or would I say, my daughter has anything to do with these feelings. I love her beyond all measure, and would not change her for anything. She is mine and she is perfect in my eyes.

But again, it doesn't change how I feel. It doesn't change the fact that I lost a part of myself the day my daughter came into the world.

Yet I gained far more than I could ever have imagined. I just wish sometimes that I was acknowledged, respected and loved for more than being a mother. I wish sometimes that I had an identity beyond those bounds. Perhaps I do, I just don't know what it is anymore. I am lost. I remain unknown.