Ep 120: Lost Yourself in Motherhood? Start Here

By Charlotte Cummings | Feel Better Podcast

 

The Quiet Moment You Realise No One Is Coming to Save You

We started this conversation laughing about how we met — one of those slightly random, sliding-doors moments that probably shouldn’t have worked, but did. There was a rural community, some flowers, and (arguably) a moment where I may have come across as mildly unhinged on the internet. Strong foundations for a friendship.

But as the conversation unfolded, it moved somewhere deeper, as these things often do. What stayed with me wasn’t just her story, but the way she has navigated motherhood — not perfectly, not effortlessly, but consciously. There’s a groundedness in how she shows up for her kids, her community, and importantly, herself.

And that’s where this conversation really lives.

Because beneath all the surface-level conversations about motherhood — routines, school lunches, activities — there is a quieter, more complex experience that doesn’t always get spoken about in full.

She spoke openly about the early years, and it wasn’t polished. There were struggles with conception, a difficult pregnancy, birth injuries, mental health challenges, and that deep, disorienting gap between what she expected motherhood to feel like and what it actually was. It wasn’t that there was no joy — there absolutely was — but it existed alongside a level of difficulty she hadn’t anticipated.

At one point, she said something that felt incredibly honest: she had assumed she would have a baby and then continue her life. But instead, everything changed.

And I think that lands for a lot of women, even now. We are talking more openly about “real motherhood,” but there is still an undercurrent of expectation that you’ll somehow remain intact through it all. That you’ll absorb the change without it fundamentally altering you.

But often, it does alter you. Completely.

There’s a particular kind of exhaustion in those early years that goes beyond being tired. It’s the feeling of being constantly “on” — needed from the moment you wake up until the moment you fall into bed. And somewhere in that, it becomes very easy to lose connection with yourself.

She described being encouraged to take time for herself, to go and do something she enjoyed, and realising she didn’t even know what that would be. Not in a dramatic sense, but in a very real, practical way. The question wasn’t “what do I feel like doing?” — it was “what do I even like anymore?”

That’s the part we don’t always prepare women for. Not just the physical and emotional demands of motherhood, but the identity shift that comes with it.

What struck me most was that the turning point didn’t come from a big decision. There wasn’t a moment where she declared a new version of herself or set out to “find her thing.” It was much smaller than that.

It came through a conversation with her kids.

They were talking about hobbies, about the things people enjoy doing, and she asked them what they thought her hobbies were. Her daughter responded, quite innocently, that she liked driving them around.

There was something confronting in that, but also clarifying. It wasn’t about guilt — it was about recognition. That somewhere along the way, she had become only one version of herself, and she wanted her children to see that she was more than that.

Not instead of being a mother, but alongside it.

And from there, it didn’t become a grand reinvention. It started with something simple — planting sunflowers with her daughter. They weren’t even particularly successful. They were in the wrong spot, they didn’t grow especially well, but she noticed that she enjoyed it.

That small moment of enjoyment became a thread. And instead of questioning it or needing it to become something significant, she followed it. One small step led to another, and over time, that interest grew into something much bigger — not just a hobby, but a space that belonged entirely to her.

I think there’s something important in that. We often believe we need clarity before we begin, that we need to know what “our thing” is before we give ourselves permission to pursue it. But more often, it’s the act of starting — however small — that creates the clarity.

Another part of the conversation that stayed with me was the idea that it’s not just about having time for yourself, but about allowing your children to see you as a whole person. Not just in the margins of the day, once everything else is done, but in visible, ordinary moments — sitting down with a book, taking a break, doing something that is simply for you.

Because otherwise, what they absorb is that adulthood, and particularly motherhood, is about disappearing into responsibility. And that’s not a story most of us consciously want to pass on.

At some point, she said, “no one was coming to save me,” and it didn’t land as harsh or hopeless. It felt steady. Like a turning point where responsibility shifted back into her own hands — not to fix everything overnight, but to begin rebuilding in small, manageable ways.

Not back to who she was before, but forward into something new.

That idea came up again later — that you don’t return to your old self after motherhood. That version of you is gone. But what replaces her can be someone more grounded, more aware, and more intentional, even if the path to becoming her is not straightforward.

If anything, this conversation felt like a reminder that rediscovering yourself doesn’t require a dramatic overhaul. It doesn’t require certainty or a clear plan. It begins much more quietly than that.

It might look like trying something small.
Noticing what feels good.
Following that, just a little further.

And trusting that, over time, those small moments will begin to form something that feels like you again.


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Ep 121: Your Hyper-Independence Is Costing You

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Ep 119: You Want More. They Don't