Lately, I feel like I am suspended between two versions of myself. The person I was before I became a mother, and the person I am still learning how to be. I do not feel fully rooted in either. I exist somewhere in the middle, unsure of how to return to the old version of me, and not yet steady in this new one. Maybe this is what motherhood really is. Living in the space between who you were and who you are becoming, holding both identities at once, even when they do not seem to fit together.

Some mornings, I catch my reflection in the mirror and pause. The woman staring back looks familiar, but not quite. My body feels like a stranger to me now. Softer in places it used to be firm, slower to recover, carrying marks of something sacred and brutal. I find myself picking it apart in quiet moments. I criticize the changes, the weight, the exhaustion carved into my skin. But then I remember that this body created life. It carried him. It sheltered him. It continues to nourish him. That truth silences the harsh thoughts, at least for a little while.

There are days when I ache for the version of life I used to have. A time when I could leave the house with nothing but my keys and a vague sense of freedom. I miss the quiet, the unstructured moments, the ability to simply exist without constantly checking the clock or planning around feedings. But when I hold my baby and feel his tiny fingers wrap around mine, everything else falls away. The loss of freedom is real, but it has been replaced with a purpose that is deeper than anything I have ever known. That exchange is both beautiful and heavy. I grieve what I gave up, even as I give thanks for what I gained.

My relationship with my partner has changed too. We used to move through life side by side, with ease and intimacy that felt natural. Now, our connection feels more functional, like we are always handing off tasks in a race with no finish line. I miss the way we used to laugh without effort. I miss reaching for each other without having to think about timing or schedules or who is more tired. But in this new rhythm, there is something unspoken building between us. A quiet kind of loyalty. A bond that is not always soft, but strong. It is being shaped by shared exhaustion, by long nights and small victories. We are learning how to love each other again, not in spite of the changes, but through them.

Sometimes, I feel a loneliness that is hard to name. I am surrounded by love and yet there are moments when I feel completely invisible. I carry so much inside, and it often feels like no one sees the full weight of it. I want help, and then when help comes, I struggle to let go. I know my baby’s every cry, every need, every comfort. Letting someone else step in feels like giving up a part of that connection. I want rest, but I want to be the one he reaches for. I want support, but I want control. It is a constant push and pull between what I need and what I cannot bear to let go of.

I love being his mother with a depth I never knew was possible. That love is fierce and tender, but it does not cancel out the hard parts. This has been one of the most difficult seasons of my life. I wake up tired and fall asleep more tired. I am fighting to stay emotionally present, even when I feel like I am unraveling on the inside. Joy lives here, but so does sadness. I carry both, every day.

So I am learning to hold on to the moments that soften me. The way his body melts into mine when he sleeps, the half-smiles that feel like the sun coming through a window, the peace that settles over him when I sing softly into the quiet. I know this time is fleeting. I know it will pass, and part of me is grateful for that. These early days are precious, but they are also relentless. Knowing they will not last forever is both a comfort and a sorrow.

Maybe this space in the middle, between who I was and who I will become, is exactly where I am meant to be. I am not the woman I once was. I am not yet the woman I am growing into. But I am both, unfolding slowly in two directions at once.

And maybe that is what motherhood truly is. A constant unraveling and becoming, a lesson in loving yourself through every contradiction. Even when you feel lost.Even when you feel like a stranger to yourself, you hold your baby and realize the woman you were is still there, just transformed.