Losing Myself Wasn’t the End: It Was the Beginning

A mother’s honest story about postpartum mental health, asking for help, and meeting the woman she was becoming after motherhood.

By Mariah J. Crespo | Guest Contributor

Editor’s Note: This essay is part of The Mami Collective’s Guest Contributor Series, featuring honest stories and personal perspectives from moms in our community. The views and experiences shared belong to the writer.

This essay reflects the author’s personal experience and is not intended as medical advice. If you are struggling with your mental health, please consider reaching out to a licensed healthcare professional or someone you trust. If you are in immediate crisis, call or text 988 to connect with the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.

It’s scary how you can pour from an empty cup.

We give our time.

Our energy.

Our patience.

We go to work.

Make dinner.

Do laundry.

Clean the house.

Take care of the kids.

But at the end of it all, what's left for us?

We hear it all the time: “you can't pour from an empty cup.” On the outside we look

completely fine but little by little, we start disappearing into motherhood.

That’s what happened to me. I didn’t wake up one day and just feel like I lost myself. It

happened slowly and quietly. I realized my days got repetitive, and there was no room for me. I

became so focused on being a mom, a partner, and everything everyone else needed. I forgot

who I was outside of those roles. I knew I needed to find myself again, not just for my son, but

for me. And I had to come to the realization that taking care of myself wasn’t taking anything

away from him.

I’ve wanted to be a mom for as long as I can remember. But nobody really prepares you for the

change after becoming a mother. Pregnancy was the beginning. My body was no longer just

mine.

There was so much to do.

So much to plan.

So much to prepare for.

Then the day came, and suddenly I became responsible for this little human that I loved more

than anything in this world. For a long time, my life revolved around breastfeeding and pumping.

I was constantly watching the clock, planning my day around the next session.

My thoughts consisted of me thinking:

Did he breastfeed enough?

What time is my next session?

Did I pump enough milk?

It took a toll on me mentally because I never really had a moment to myself. Then I went back to

work and life became a routine.

Work

Come home

Dinner

Bath

Bed

Wake up and do it all over again.

Somewhere in all of that, I just stopped showing up for myself.

I’ll admit something we never say out loud: I love my child, but I miss Mariah. Not the old

me. I didn’t want to go backwards, I just wanted to know who I was outside of being a mom, and

a partner. I could never put that feeling into words. I just knew there was more out there for me

than those roles. So, I went to look for it. There was a version of me out there that had goals and

interests. I wanted the version of me that loved being a mother without losing herself in it. I

think I was trying to meet the woman I was becoming.

There was a lot of resistance, and I kept telling myself I could handle the feelings I was going

through. I tried therapy. I stopped. I started again. I tried making little routines so I could finally

feel better. I struggled to stay consistent with anything. I was breastfeeding, pumping, barely

getting sleep, worried about whether my child drank enough. When I talked about it, I got the

pressure of starting formula. But something inside pushed me to keep going. I cried. A LOT.

I convinced myself that being strong meant not asking for help. A few months into being a new

mom I was introduced to another mom, we talked about medication, and how it helped her. I

remember saying how I didn't think I could do that and I felt like I could be strong without it. I

didn't want to take medication just to be okay. A few months passed and I made the decision to

start medication. I cried my entire ride home after taking my first dose. I messaged that same

mom and told her. It was emotional for me to start medication because, for months, I had been

trying to convince myself I was okay.

Truth is that I wasn’t okay.

Admitting I wasn't okay wasn't the end, along with therapy something inside me started to shift.

Not overnight.

Not magically.

But just enough of a push for me to start finding my way back to Mariah.

Becoming a parent also changed my relationship. My partner and I weren't just learning to love

each other anymore. Our responsibilities became greater than that. We were learning how to raise

a child, divide responsibilities, communicate differently, and find time for ourselves in this

completely new life. There were times I felt alone in what I was going through. I didn't always

feel understood, but honestly, I didn't know how to explain what was happening inside of me

either. For a while I tried looking for people who would understand what I was going through. I

tried online mom groups; I even went to a postpartum therapist; it didn't last long. Eventually I

found my way back to my therapist and committed to getting the help I needed. Somewhere

along my journey I had to realize that no one was coming to save me. So, I decided that I was

going to save myself! I started off small, giving myself the opportunity to choose myself through

small acts. Then I pushed myself to do more. Choosing myself didn't mean choosing my family

any less. I just meant accepting that I was a person inside this family too. My needs mattered, my

mental health mattered, Mariah mattered.

People usually assume you go to the gym just to lose weight. But for me that was an addition. I

knew going back to the gym was the beginning of rebuilding my mental health. The biggest

transformation was happening somewhere no one could see. The gym became something that

was mine. For that time, I wasn't Mom. I wasn't a partner. I wasn't an employee. I was simply

Mariah. I can't tell you how many times I didn't want to go. I worked all day, came home, picked

up my son, made dinner, gave him a bath, and put him to bed. Once I finally had a chance to

myself, I was exhausted.

But I went anyway.

Some workouts were great, and some weren't. Some lasted an hour, and some lasted 20 minutes.

The point was not to appear perfect. The point was to be consistent and keep showing up. For the

first time in a long time, I valued keeping a promise to myself. Not because someone needed

me to. Not because I was trying to prove anything to anyone. I was just showing up because I

mattered too. The gym didn't fix everything, but somewhere in between those late-night

workouts, I built trust in myself again. I started changing the way I saw myself and found pieces

of Mariah I thought I had lost.

I wasn’t looking for the old Mariah. I know that now. I found a completely different version of

myself. A version of me that has goals. A version that wants to create, write, connect with people,

and see what she’s capable of. I'm learning what life is like outside of everything I do for

everyone else. I'm still a work in progress. I still go to therapy. Still have moments where I

question myself. But the difference is I don’t abandon myself anymore. I'm learning to speak

up for myself, protect my time, take care of my body, and most importantly take care of my

mind. Somehow taking care of Mariah has made me feel more present as a mother, not less. I

spent so much time thinking I needed to find myself again, I didn't realize I was becoming

someone I hadn't met. And honestly, I'm still becoming her.

Maybe you don't recognize yourself right now.

Maybe you’re exhausted.

Overwhelmed.

Maybe you love your children more than anything in this world but secretly miss yourself.

You don't have to have it all figured out. Do one small thing that belongs to you. Make the

appointment. Ask for help. Take a walk. Go to the gym. Pray. Write. Do something that reminds

you that you're still a person outside of all you do for others. I used to think that healing meant

finding my way back to the woman I was before motherhood. I was wrong. Motherhood

changed me. Losing myself changed me. Now I'm learning that I'm not supposed to find the

old Mariah again. I'm meeting the woman I'm becoming. And if you feel lost right now, maybe

you're not at the end of your story either. Maybe you're becoming too.

Maybe losing myself wasn't the end of my story.

Maybe it was the beginning.

Have a story to share?

The Mami Collective believes moms deserve a space to tell the truth about motherhood, ambition, identity, and everything in between. If you’re interested in contributing a guest essay, we’d love to hear from you.