Almost a year ago the most life-changing thing happened to me.
I had my son.
I have always thought of pregnancy and motherhood as the most sacred things, and I guess deep down I knew that becoming a mother would shift my centre of gravity and give me one purpose above any others.
I guess that’s partly why I focused so heavily on my education and career/s before. Some part of me realised these wouldn’t be my main focus forever.
Despite this, I (stupidly) built my sense of identity and worth primarily on career. I took it too seriously and worked too hard. I chased success milestones, but often only experienced short-lived senses of achievement.
Resigning to stay at home has been a big adjustment. It’s great, but it’s also prompted feelings of impending doom, anxiety about money, not having a big enough impact and not having my own identity separate from being someone’s mom.
With less time to actually.do.anything but more time alone with my thoughts, and much comfort food, insecurities and fears race around my head. Unchecked, they prompt feverish questioning: Will my tummy shrink back down? Is that all I will achieve in life? Did I really peak in high school?
My up-til-now coping mechanism for dealing with all anxiety, to just.work.harder, while a relatively socially acceptable crutch, is not good for you. It makes you boring to be around and it’s certainly not practical when you’re in charge of your little one not sucking the batteries to the TV remote (whoops).
I’ve resolved to do the only sensible thing in the circumstances…