Mama, you will find yourself again.

 

Hiking up to Buffalo Point, on Antelope Island in Utah

Motherhood is a weird thing. It is simultaneously the best, most wonderful, incredible thing I have ever done, and the darkest, hardest, perplexing, and worst thing I have ever done. 

And I don’t feel like that has anything to do with my sweet babies. It has everything to do with me and how motherhood changed me. 

“Changed” really isn’t the right word. It pummeled me, brought me up short, tore the girl I was to shreds- and in the process, it gave rise to the woman I have become. 

But becoming her, that woman, has been excruciating. 

And I don’t think every woman has this experience. Not everyone has a baby and an existential crisis- but enough of us have that I want to talk about it, because going through it is lonely and hard and awful. But necessary. 

When I was in baby having season, I had this idea of what I “should” be. As a woman, a wife, a mom…I had these impossible standards for who I should be. Not impossible because it was unattainable, but impossible because that wasn’t who I am, in my core. I didn’t WANT to be that woman, but then again, I didn’t really know who I wanted to be. 

And motherhood was so different than I thought it would be. My kids didn’t behave or respond how I expected, I was working at home full time, and dealing with debilitating mental health problems. During those years of having kids, I truly lost myself. 

And over the last couple of years, I have become obsessed with trying to find me again. 

Around this time last summer, I came the realization that beliefs, creeds and ideas that I had long clung to as my truth were all of a sudden not relevant to me anymore. I didn’t believe them. It was shocking and gut wrenching. I was angry and confused and scared. 

But it begged the question- what do I believe now? 

And in the process of letting go of the beliefs that no longer served me, I found myself questioning other things too. 

Like the still, small voice in my heart that told me I could never be enough. That I wouldn’t ever really be a good mom to my kids. That I would never be brave enough to do hard things. That I wasn’t capable of being physically, mentally or emotionally strong. That I wasn’t smart enough to get an education. 

I challenged that voice and after years of being it’s captor, I told it to pound sand. 

And I started to the hard things, the scary things, the things I told myself I wasn’t capable of. 

Slowly, but surely, I started discovering Rachel. Not Rachel the wife, or Rachel the mom, or Rachel the daughter- Rachel, in all her glory, flaws, talents, failures, likes, dislikes…all of it.

This week, I’ve gotten a chance to flex my newfound strength and capabilities. A dear friend of mine invited me on a road trip across the country- something I’ve never done on my own. I said yes. I even booked a couple hotels and didn’t mess up, like I was sure I would.

Then, she asked if I would take turns driving. Year-ago-Rachel would have said no, believing she was too stupid to drive the cross-country interstate. But this-year-Rachel said yes. I definitely wasn’t perfect- but I did it. 

Then, I decided to keep up with my workout regimen while being gone- something I wouldn’t have had the self discipline to do before. I ended up pulling 120 lbs on a lat pull down, something I would have never thought myself capable of doing. 

And the biggest point of growth I’ve seen in myself- I went to a state park and hiked, all by myself today. The Rachel before wouldn’t ever have done that alone, much less in the heat, much less not having been there before. But it was one of the most magical, satisfying things I have ever done. 

I left my sweet babies for a whole week and some change- and I miss them like hell. But after 6 years of near constant parenting, I knew my soul needed a break. And when I come back home, I will feel refreshed and joyful, and so ready to be the best wife and mom I can be. 

I did all these things imperfectly. I didn’t pack enough sunscreen, I freaked out when I truck moved into my lane, my workout forms aren’t perfect- but I did them. 

And if I did them, you absolutely can too. 

Mama, these little years will not last forever. They won’t need you for everything all the time. You will get the chance to pee alone, sleep through the night, invest in yourself and discover the woman you have become- the woman changed by the fire of motherhood. I can’t wait to meet her.