I Lost Myself in Motherhood - And the Part That Went First Surprised Me
Six months postpartum, I signed up for an art journaling class.
I sorted out the childcare (I am married to a shift worker). I figured out the pumping schedule. I mapped the bedtime logistics. I handed off every single piece of the invisible load so that I could go sit in a room one evening a week and make something with my hands.
Then I got the email. Not enough registrations. Class cancelled.
I remember the feeling that came up - and it was way bigger than disappointment. It was gutted. It was of course. Of course the one thing I want for myself I can’t have. It felt like a specific type of new-mom cruelty of almost having the one thing you’d let yourself want, and watching it disappear before you even got there.
The one thing I thought was mine. I can’t even have that. The world won’t let me have it.
It’s been 11 years since that moment and I can still feel the disappointment in my body. The defeat in my bones. My life had changed. My husband’s, not so much.
That feeling told me something important. It told me how starved the creative part of me had become - and that whatever I’d been doing in place of feeding her (becoming hyper vigilant about all things motherhood and baby) wasn't working. And I was not ok.
Lost your identity in motherhood? This is usually the piece that goes first
What I realized very early postpartum is that the piece of me that was most gone - most lost, most invisible - was the playful, curious, creative version of me.
It’s like as soon as that baby exited my body, that version of myself was no longer proper. No longer a good use of time. Even though it was the very thing that made me feel like I was alive. I was consumed by nap schedules, the right sleep sacs and keeping it all together so I wouldn’t look like I was (in all honesty) hating this.
I have always had a natural knowing about creativity. I used to cut up magazines and make collages in my bedroom as a teenager. I’ve always kept a notebook in my backpack - I’m almost 40 and I still carry one everywhere, pens and highlighters included. I wrote poetry in the margins of my schoolwork. I once got in trouble for doodling F*CK in the margins of my science homework.
Creativity wasn’t something I scheduled or performed. It was just part of how I moved through the world, how I breathed, how I found stillness, how I got my brain to quiet down.
And then motherhood arrived and it felt suddenly frivolous. Improper. Like something a mother shouldn’t need or make time for.
So I stopped being creative. When you’re in the newborn trenches, there legitimately isn’t enough time. It happened so gradually I almost didn’t see it leaving - the way most losses in motherhood happen, quietly, and then all at once. And that, I eventually realized, was bullshit. It was just not enough.
How moms lose themselves - it’s not one big moment, it’s a thousand small ones
It’s not one big moment. It’s the micro ones.
It’s packing the diaper bag without asking your partner. It’s the thought that runs in the background - I can’t do that. I shouldn’t want that. Oh, wouldn’t that be nice. Over and over, so quietly you barely notice them. The thing that was yours gets reclassified as a luxury. The alive thing stops asking because you keep choosing the logical thing instead.
I’ve heard some version of this from mothers I work with more times than I can count: I don’t know what I like anymore. I used to be creative. I used to have things that were mine. I don’t even know where I’d start.
That's what happens when a mother's nervous system is permanently on high alert. There's no bandwidth left for the soft, slow, wandering headspace where creativity lives.
And that matters more than most people realize — because creativity isn't a hobby. It's how you know you're still alive.
The one thing missing from a lot of mom wellness conversations
As a mom guilt therapist, I’ll say it plainly: creative expression is the missing pillar of wellness. The research has been sitting there for years.
Measurably lowers cortisol - the stress hormone keeping your nervous system in fight-or-flight
Regulates emotions and nervous system response
Boosts immunity - studies suggest regular creative practice means getting sick less often
Neurologically as beneficial as meditation or exercise - not metaphorically, actually
And yet it’s still treated as frivolous. A hobby. The thing you get to do when everything else is finished - which for mothers means never.
Almost every mom I work with says some version of: I’m not really a creative person. And almost every time, when I ask them to say more, what comes out is a story. A teacher who graded their art harshly. A sibling who was the talented one. A slow accumulation of moments where creativity got evaluated and found wanting.
We didn’t arrive at “I’m not creative” on our own. We were taught it.
I lost myself in motherhood and this is how I found my way back
A couple of years after the cancelled class, I was still running on the either-or equation. Either working or parenting. Nothing left over for me.
Then I found a training program - 10 days away from home, learning how to use art-making, music, movement, and writing as tools for healing. Not art class. Not therapy in the traditional sense. More like: what if instead of talking about your feelings, you made something with them?
A two-year-old at home. A shift-worker husband. Nearly impossible, logistically.
I went anyway.
What I didn't anticipate is that those 10 days wouldn't just be professional training. They would be the path back to finding myself. The playful, creative, alive version of me that had felt so improper since the baby arrived was still completely intact. She had just been waiting for someone to give her room.
Everything just kind of made sense after that.
I talk through the whole story - the cancelled class, the 10 days, what this actually looked like - with Emily on The Sparkle Project. If this is landing, go listen.
You don't need 10 days away to find your way back. You just need a place to start.
5 stupid-simple ways to find yourself again when you don't even know where to start
The part of you that went quiet when you became a mother - the part that used to make things, want things, feel things that had nothing to do with anyone else's needs - she didn't leave.
Notice a glimmer. A colour that catches your eye. A song that makes you feel something. A texture you want to stay with for one extra second. Don't analyse it. Just notice.
Tear something out. Grab a magazine. Tear out anything you're drawn to and don't ask why. Put it somewhere you can see it.
Buy yourself a pack of pens that would make 12-year-old you giddy.
Listen to your favourite emo punk song from the 2000s. All the way through. Alone. Loud.(Here’s mine)
Use the "story I'm telling myself" tool. It's one of the simplest ways to get honest about what's actually going on underneath.
You’re not building a practice yet. You’re just remembering that this part of you exists. That’s the whole first step.
P.S. If this landed and you’re ready to go deeper than this blog can offer you - this is the work I do with mothers every day. Individual counselling, coaching, and creative sessions open now. Virtual across Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Ontario. In-person in Leduc.
Need a hand figuring out next steps?
Or just want a little more info?
