There was a version of me before motherhood.
She woke up slowly. She made coffee while it was still hot, and she actually got to drink it that way.
She had routines, plans, timelines, and space to think.
She also believed she knew what love was.
Then life placed two little hearts into my arms — and nothing was ever the same again.
Now I wake to:
“Mama?”
“Mama?”
“Mama, look!”
I love it.
And I also get overwhelmed.
Motherhood is funny like that. It holds joy and exhaustion in the same exact moment.
One second I feel like I’m glowing from love.
The next I’m hiding in the bathroom just to take one full breath.
I used to think being a mother meant being endlessly patient, endlessly available, endlessly soft.
But now I know:
Being a mother means being human.
Some days I show up calm.
Some days I show up tired.
Some days I show up with the best version of me.
And some days I show up messy — hair tied up, patience barely hanging on, eyes that feel older than they should.
And all of those versions of me are still a good mother.
The woman I was before motherhood?
I miss her sometimes.
But I’ve also grown into someone I never imagined I could be.
Someone capable of loving with her whole chest, even when it’s hard.
Someone who keeps trying, even when she’s tired.
Someone who is learning herself again, slowly, gently, piece by piece.
And I’m proud of her —
both the mother I was,
and the mother I am now.
— forget ME nots…
for every version of you, still here.