How do I stop feeling like I’m losing myself in motherhood?

Question from Rania M., 35, Ottawa, Canada. Mom to 5-month old baby boy, Rómeo.

Rania was a teacher before maternity leave. She loved yoga, journaling, and brunch with her girlfriends. Now, she barely recognizes her reflection, hasn’t opened her journal in months, and wonders if she’s still the woman she used to be — or just “mom.”

Mama, 

You’re not broken for feeling this way.
You’re human. And oh, do I know this ache.

I remember standing in the kitchen one night, holding one of my twins while the other screamed from the bassinet. I was wearing an old tank top I used to sleep in during college — but it wasn’t nostalgic. It was stained. Worn out. Just like I felt.

I couldn’t remember the last time I wore mascara. Or laughed so hard my stomach hurt. Or said my own name out loud instead of “mom” for the 46th time that day.

Losing your identity in motherhood doesn’t happen all at once.
It’s a slow erosion.
A thousand tiny moments where you choose your baby over yourself.
And another. And another.

And yes — it’s beautiful. Yes, you’d do it again in a heartbeat.
But also? It hurts.

You start to wonder if the woman you were before is gone for good.
If she fits into this new version of life.
If she’s even allowed here.

And maybe no one warned you that missing who you were before your baby doesn’t make you ungrateful. It makes you still human underneath the mom.

So here’s what helped me start coming back to myself — slowly, softly, with no pressure to arrive all at once:

• I whispered my name to myself in the mirror. Just once a day. “Lina.”
• I put on a bra that didn’t pinch, didn’t dig, and didn’t make me feel like a milk machine (yes, it was from Bloom & Heal — and yes, comfort matters).
• I asked my husband to take the twins for 20 minutes — not so I could clean, but so I could be.

And when the guilt came creeping in? I reminded myself:

• Postpartum identity loss is real.
  
• You can love your baby and still mourn your old self.
  
• You’re not selfish for wanting space — you’re someone who matters, too.

You’re still in there, mama.
Maybe softer. Maybe a little more tired. But she’s not gone. She’s evolving.

You don’t have to go back to who you were.
You just get to bring her with you as you become someone new.

Love,
Lina P.