I Miss Who I Was Before Baby

And I'm Actually Saying It Out Loud

The first time I muttered "I miss my old life" it was like I was admitting to an act of treason.

I was sitting on the bathroom floor in mismatched socks, baby monitor crackling on the counter, a half slice of cold toast in my hand — and I said it. Not out loud, really. Just… into the void. Into the void that opened between nap time and the next diaper blowout. I missed myself. Not in a wistful, "aww look how worry-­free I was back then" way — but in a deep, ache-in-my-­chest sort of way. I longed for the version of myself who was liberated, spontaneous, on purpose. The me with time to think, to feel, to dance around the house to Beyoncé without an interruption to deal with a pacifier crisis.

The guilt hit immediately. I mean, how dare I feel this? My baby is healthy. I have a home. I chose this life. But here's the part that nobody tells you: Grief and gratitude can coexist. You can gaze at your baby and be filled with a love that engulfs you and still feel the silent grief of losing the identity you spent decades constructing. This isn't about regret. It's about three things: seeing oneself — realizing that motherhood changes us, and sometimes in the process… we forget who we were before it changed.

Identity Crisis, Party of One (But You're Not Alone)

For as anyone who has ever scrolled through a roll of old photos and thought, "She seemed so alive … what happened to her?" knows, looking vibrant is very different from feeling it. —this is for you.

So many moms grieve for the old woman they once were. She had ambitions that did not include nap times. She talked to people without a teething baby's screech coming over the line. She had time — I mean, time that's actual, unstructured, just-for-her time. Now, she is a ghost of herself: still there, but blurrier around the edges. And the kicker? Nobody's really talking about it.

We're inundated with "soak it all in," "enjoy every moment" and #grateful all the time. But the truth? Motherhood is both the best thing that ever happened to you and the most challenging identity shift you've faced. You're a bad mom for saying that statement — you're just an honest one.

True Confessions of Real Moms

I anonymously posted on a couple of mom groups and forums, asking just one thing:

"What do you miss the most about who you were before you were a mom?"

Here's what poured in:

💬 "I miss just being able to … be. Just to be here without anyone wanting anything from me."

💬 "I miss how I used to feel inside my own body. Now it is as if it belongs to everybody else."

💬 "I miss having dreams that did not get put on pause."

💬 "I miss being seen for something other than a mom."

💬 "I miss the ability to laugh with my best friend without feeling as though I had a mental checklist of chores running in the background."

These are not signs of ingratitude. They're signs of honesty. And for every one mom bold enough to say it, there are dozens of other moms somewhere silently nodding, wiping away a tear in the light of their phone screen.

The Parking Lot Cry Everyone Knows™

We've all had it. The "I just need a minute" meltdown in a parking lot, washing room or bathroom — anywhere we can be alone with the burden we're shouldering.

Perhaps that was following a bad night when no one slept. Perhaps it was on the way to work with spit-up on your shirt. Or perhaps it was any old Tuesday where the invisible mental load finally broke you open.

That moment is not weakness — it's release. That's your body saying, "I'm calling for space. I need acknowledgment. I miss being a person who has needs of her own." Entirely reasonable as a response to the emotional labor of motherhood. And the scariest part? Most of us don't even realize how much we've buried that identity grief until it comes percolating up into those messy, mascara-streaked sobs behind the steering wheel.

Mourning the Old You and Not Losing the New You

Motherhood has blessed me with things I didn't even know I needed — a deeper compassion, a strength I never knew I had and a tiny human who calls me "Mama" with sticky fingers and a gummy smile.

But it has also taken from me. The ease. The spontaneity. The me that had the luxury of only being demanded upon 24/7.

And guess what? You are entitled to feel happy and sad. It's okay to miss you. You don't have to apologize for wanting yourself back — not all of yourself, but little bits of yourself sprinkled throughout the day.

Because here's the part that nobody tells you: The old you is not gone — she's still there, underneath the milk-stained hoodies and the grocery lists. She's waiting for you to come find her again.

5 Legit Ways to Begin Reclaiming 'You' and Put an End to the Personal B.S.

You don't need a full-on spa weekend (although YES PLEASE) to start getting back in touch with yourself. Try starting here:

• Schedule a solo joy moment. Even 20 minutes counts. Get in the car with your favorite playlist. A walk with no stroller. A coffeehouse where no one touches you.
• Say "no" without apologizing. Protect your peace. Say yes to rest.
• Text your pre-mom bestie. Rekindle a friendship that made you feel like you.
• Put on the thing that makes you feel HOT — even if it's just to go to Target.
• Each week, write down one thing that felt like "you." Celebrate it. Build on it.

This is not about becoming who you were before. It's about weaving her into the woman you are becoming.

You're Not a Bad Mom — You're a Human One

So if today you are holding your baby with one hand and your dwindling identity in the other, take a deep breath. Take ten.

You are not failing. You're adjusting. You are learning to be in a world that insists you must still be everything without ever bothering to ask what you need.

If you need to, read it aloud:

"I miss my old life. I miss me. And I'm allowed to."

May that truth be a glimmer of light in the fog. Let it take you back to yourself.

Somewhere out of left field laugh-hug ending (Lexi Style)

Will I ever be that carefree, brunch-on-a-whim, three-mimosas-deep girl again? Maybe not.

But will I ever meet her who dons baby drool as armor and still sings Lizzo in the kitchen cooking up mac&cheese? Oh, 1000%.

So yeah, I miss her. But I'm also kinda in love with who I'm becoming.

Even if she sobs in parking lots and murmurs to herself in the aisles of Target.

We got this. We are all growing, grieving, and glowing at the same time.

Send this by text to a mother who needs to hear it today. And then go do something just for you for five whole minutes. 💗