SeleneByMarialyn

Somewhere along the journey of motherhood, I lost my sparkle. My essence. The things that made me ME.

I had become someone’s—actually, two someones’—full-time snack bitch. The ultimate safe space. Boo-boo kisser, butt wiper, and end-all, be-all of my children’s existence.

And what an honor it is.

I would never give that up. My individuality seemed a small price to pay for a love so pure.

But nevertheless, a loss did happen.

Not all at once, of course. There wasn’t some dramatic moment when I looked in the mirror and failed to recognize the woman staring back at me.

It was more subtle than that.

It was catching a glance of my reflection and wondering, where the hell did all these gray hairs come from? Has my face always been this rosy? And at what point did acne become a permanent resident of my chin?

What in the actual hell is going on here?

Don’t even get me started on how much motherhood changes your body. Not just the outside, but the inside as well.

And the sleep deprivation—holy fuck.

There’s a reason sleep deprivation is used as a torture technique. It is brutal.

So, in the throes of life with two under two, I sure as hell didn’t have time to stop and examine myself daily. Or keep up with many hobbies beyond reading and dragging my broke besties along on errands. Our life revolved around their sleep and development.

Perhaps it wasn’t all that surprising that I began to feel disconnected from myself.

Shout-out to all the mamas who’ve managed to maintain space for themselves. I applaud you.

I, however, tucked pieces of myself away as I focused on raising and loving my babies.

With my husband working a crazy, nontraditional schedule and not much of a support system, I made quiet promises that I’d come back for those pieces when things settled down.

But life doesn’t really settle down, does it?

It just changes. And so do the demands.

Before I knew it, I was standing in the middle of  a life I had actively helped create, dare I say orchestrate,  wondering where the hell I’d gone.

I love being a mother. Aside from being a Marine, it’s the only other time in my life that I’ve felt the work I was doing truly mattered. But purpose and identity aren’t necessarily the same thing.

I am so much more than someone’s mother.

I am and always have been, Marialyn.

Thankfully, as my children have grown and their independence has blossomed, so has the space to rediscover myself. I have been gifted time.

Not an abundance of it, let’s not get carried away. Little pockets.

Much like losing myself, finding myself  has been a gradual process.

Slowly, I began pursuing things that brought me joy.

But there was a surprisingly painful adjustment period that required an embarrassing amount of mental gymnastics.

I had to remind myself that it was okay not to be productive. That doing something purely for my own enjoyment wasn’t an indulgence that needed to be justified.

My logical brain asked: How can you pour from an empty cup, Marialyn? But my emotional heart kept turning over a dry chalice.

Bless my husband who was a resounding voice of encouragement.

I can now say I am comfortable doing things for myself and my own enjoyment; it’s wonderfully liberating.

For years, my world orbited around Phoenix and Sebastian, and while they still need me, the intensity ebbs and flows.

It’s a strange, bittersweet thing, motherhood.

You spend years being someone’s entire world while helping them build a version that doesn’t revolve around you.

So as their world expanded, so did mine.

Something I hadn’t anticipated was how difficult it would be to reconnect with the things I’d once loved.

It felt foreign.

It was like my muscles remembered what they were supposed to do but couldn’t quite execute the movement.

Or at least, not with the same ease.

Creativity, in particular, required a conscious effort.

The instinct was there. The desire was there. But somewhere between the idea and the tangible result, it wasn’t connecting.

And that was frustrating.

To finally find myself with the time and desire to pursue my interests, only to discover that I wasn’t particularly good at them.

I’d spent years honing an entirely different set of skills. Patience, nurturing, problem-solving, and the ability to function on an ungodly amount of interrupted sleep.

My creativity hadn’t disappeared. It was simply dormant.

And like any skill left idle, it needed a little TLC. And a whole lot of grace.

So I trudged along.

Waking the parts of me I’d laid to rest years ago while discovering parts of myself I didn’t even know existed.

I think a lot of moms are familiar with the flamingo analogy and the phrase getting your pink back.

But if you aren’t, allow me to explain.

Flamingos get their beautiful pink coloring from carotenoids in their diet. During breeding and chick-rearing, the tremendous nutritional demands of caring for their young can cause that vibrant coloring to fade.

Motherhood can quite literally drain the pink right out of them.

And I remember thinking, Well shit. Even the flamingos!

So here I am, slowly getting my pink back.

I’m not entirely sure what shade I’ll end up being, but make no mistake, it will be all mine.

And if you’re still in the trenches, I see you, mama.

If you’re feeling disconnected from yourself, you’re not alone.

And if you’re wondering whether you’ll ever feel like yourself again, I hope you know that the woman you were hasn’t simply vanished.

She may be a little different now. A little tired. But she’s still there.

And when the time comes, I hope you give yourself the space and grace to discover her again.

Whatever shade of pink she turns out to be.