Before Perfection

Until I was in my 20s, I struggled with my identity. As a child, I was so shy that I assumed no one knew who I was. I shied away from social situations, and I hung back as others made friends, looked fashionable, and commanded attention. I was that kid who wouldn’t even speak to my mom’s friends who introduced themselves to me because I wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers.

Middle school and high school were a one-step-forward, two-steps-back struggle to figure out who I was. I was sure everyone was cooler, prettier, and more confident than I was. And I was sure they all saw every insecurity of mine.

But over the years, it all started to come together. By the time I graduated from college, I was confident. I was myself. I had my interests, my quirks, and my personality. I didn’t care what people thought, and I was comfortable with the things that defined me as a person. I continued to move forward with clarity and self-assurance.

Embracing Perfection

I was on a gentle incline upwards, and I reached the peak when I was 30 and I had my son. During those first few days of motherhood, it all came together. I was exactly who I was, always wanted to be, and always would be. And not just because I was a mom. It was because I was everything. All of the puzzle pieces that made me whole came together at this moment, and I was whole.

And then began the downward slide.

Not that things became bad after that, but I began to lose myself little by little. I was immersed in motherhood. Every bit of it. It was ok that I went to work covered in poop (well, it was ok to me at least). I felt like I was missing a limb if my son wasn’t with me. I loved breastfeeding. I didn’t even mind the middle of the night wakeup times. I was in a daze of hormones, fat rolls, and kisses.

In fact, during this time, I felt more inspired than ever. I started a business. I stayed up nights sewing fabric toys and quiet books. I began blogging. I felt like I had more time than ever before even though I didn’t. Was I crazy? I was bleary eyed from being up all night. I was hallucinating at work because I was so exhausted. I didn’t have time to go grocery shopping among the madness. But I found inspiration in being a mom, and it set me forward.

The Downward Spiral

Along that path, though, I began to lose myself again. Newborns grow up. They start whining, then they throw epic tantrums. Then I had another kid. My kids fought incessantly. I lost time. Free time was spent having a few beers on the couch and zoning out in front of The Walking Dead. I didn’t have the time or the energy to exercise, to meet with friends, or—God forbid—to have sex. Have someone touch me after being touched all day? I felt like I was giving and giving and giving, and I didn’t have anything left to give. Not to my husband, and definitely not to myself.

By the time I was about 50 pounds overweight, I hadn’t exercised in 4 years, my husband felt like a roommate, and my kids drove me mad, I realized something had to give. I hadn’t read a book in years, and my other hobbies—things that had defined me earlier in my life—were nonexistent. And I wasn’t happy. I wanted a vacation. I kept thinking if I could just get an hour off…. Then an hour became a day, a day became a week, and all of a sudden, I found myself thinking, “if I could just take a year off, I could come back to this life and be happy, energetic, and totally into it.”

Because that’s realistic.

Making My Own Version of Perfection

Since taking a year off wasn’t exactly in the cards for me, I started to do other things. Things that made me happy and helped me feel like myself again. And slowly, I started to realize that just because I had kids, “Mom” was not the only thing that defined me.

And I started to actually talk to other moms about it. Not just pretend things were cool and my kids were perfect and I loved it, even the tantrums and the marker on the wall. I started to be honest. I loved going to the gym after work, even if it meant that I didn’t put my kids to bed. I pulled out my violin and jammed to Pandora as I stepped on Legos and my kids danced (or yelled at me to stop). I started to read books on the toilet. All these things were making me feel like myself again. I was making my perfect. And that was ok.

What is something that you wish you still had time for, that you’ve stopped doing since becoming a mom?

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