One of the many good decisions I made on the weekend was to head to the beach, on my own, for some ‘me’ time while my youngest babe had sports practice. (We don’t live near the sports practice and it’s just a happy coincidence that the new venue is only 5 minutes from the beach)
So I thought – “well, instead of sitting in the car and looking at emails or social media, let me take myself to the beach!”
So I chucked my hat and sunnies and book into the car and off we went to sports practice.
And as I sat on the beach, on my own, I realised that I am pretty sure I have NEVER gone to the beach on my own before this day.
Like: never packed a bag, headed to the beach, sat, read, swam on my own, and packed up and gone home. Completely. On. My. Own.
Never.
46 years. And I have NEVER done it.
And this realisation sat with me in a “I’m really proud of myself, but holy-shit woman! where have you BEEN??” kind of way.
Now bear with me while I unpack this. (or scroll on, I know time is precious)
Let me indulge a brief story:
There was a time, not too long ago, when I felt overwhelmingly suffocated by the intensity of motherhood. The monotony. The loneliness. The lack of sleep, the “wtf do I do in THIS new situation?” – as yet another parenting lesson found its way into my journey.
It honestly felt like it would never end.
And that came with bucket loads of guilt, and sadness and frustration … because everyone told me that “I’d miss it when it’s over” or I should be “making the most of it” … but when you’re IN it, on the daily, minute after minute, you can’t SEE that.
And I absolutely believed that the “me” from before kids was gone. She was buried under children and housework and I no longer knew what I wanted, what I liked, what I enjoyed … “I” was gone ….
And honestly, that is absolutely true.
The “me” before kids IS gone (I don’t really remember who she was anyway)
I wish I could say I’ve worked hard to dig my way back to being “me” but it hasn’t been a dig (I’ve been too bloody busy to dig!)
It’s been more of an osmosis of sorts, no singular defining shift or event (although there have certainly been a few that would rate pretty highly) it’s just been a slow realisation that I’m finding myself. As horrendously cliche as that sounds.
So in a long winded, far too-wordy way, I’m trying to pass on some hope.
If you’re a mum who feels the relentlessness of motherhood, please know:
One day you’ll do something simple, like going to the beach on your own for the first time, and you’ll suddenly realise that you found a little slice of YOU.
A new you. One who IS a mother, but one who isn’t defined by that role. One who is flawed and scared but incredibly strong and capable and brave BECAUSE of the journey to get there.
And you’ll realise that you don’t miss the old you.
Because the new one is everything you (and your children) need her to be.
