How Motherhood Unmade Me… and Remade Me

 Khulumbai!

Before becoming a mother, I truly didn’t know what it meant to be one.

No one tells you that motherhood can slowly drain you into places you never imagined physically, mentally, emotionally until one day you look at yourself and don’t fully recognize who you’ve become.

Before all of this, I was calm, carefree, someone who lived gently. I rested when I wanted, did what I loved, and never had to think twice about putting myself first.

I thought I knew life.

I didn’t.

Pregnancy wasn’t the hardest part for me. It came with changes, yes, but nothing that shook me deeply.

It was after she was born, when everything inside me began to shift.

I remember looking at my baby for the first time. I was happy… but there was also a strange sadness sitting quietly inside me. A feeling I didn’t understand, and honestly, didn’t expect.

Because this was supposed to be the happiest moment of my life. So why didn’t it feel that way?

Days passed, and my life changed completely. My routine, my sleep, my thoughts, everything revolved around her. Every second of my day belonged to someone else.

And somewhere in between feeding, crying, sleepless nights, and endless responsibilities…

I felt like I disappeared.

I was someone who loved resting. Who could pause, breathe, take a moment for herself. But after my baby, I realized I hadn’t truly rested even for a day. The exhaustion wasn’t just physical, it sat deep inside my mind.

And slowly, quietly, it started breaking me.

There were moments I wasn’t ready to admit, even to myself. Moments where I felt like I wasn’t ready for her.

Moments where I regretted becoming a mother. Moments where I felt angry at myself, at life, at everything.

And there were even fleeting seconds, painful, guilt-filled seconds when I felt resentment towards my own child.

Writing this hurts. But hiding it hurts more.

Because this is the truth no one talks about.

I had just started building my career after my master’s. I had dreams, plans, a life I was shaping for myself. And suddenly, I had to accept that for years, I might have to put all of that aside, just because I am a mother now.

That thought made me feel trapped.

There were days when her crying felt unbearable. When instead of feeling patience, I felt frustration rising inside me. I would sit there and think - why is this so hard? Why does motherhood feel like suffering?

Sometimes, I couldn’t handle it. I would walk away. Sit alone in another room. Just to breathe. Just to feel like myself again for a few minutes.

Feeding her felt exhausting. She needed me constantly, clinging to me, and I would sit in one position for so long that my body ached and my mind screamed for escape.

I hated cleaning poop.
I hated changing diapers.
I hated the constant demands.
I hated the life I had stepped into.

And then came the question that broke me the most -

Do I even deserve to be a mother?

Because none of this was her fault. She is just a baby. Innocent. Pure. Full of nothing but love.

And there I was struggling to feel the same way all the time.

But somewhere, slowly, quietly, things began to change.

Not suddenly, not magically, but little by little.

As time passed, as she grew, as she turned one... Something inside me softened. I started realizing that life doesn’t stay the same and maybe it isn’t meant to.

Life changes. Completely. Unexpectedly.

And maybe the pain comes when we keep trying to hold on to who we used to be, instead of accepting who we are becoming.

I didn’t notice it in one big moment. It was in the small things.

Her laughter, once overwhelming, started feeling like the most beautiful sound I knew. Her tiny hands reaching for me, no longer felt like a burden, but like trust. The same moments I once tried to escape became the moments I wanted to hold onto a little longer.

I didn’t become a perfect mother.

But I became a more accepting one, a softer one. A mother who is still tired, still confused, still learning every single day, but no longer fighting her own life.

And today, when I look back, I don’t just see the exhaustion, the anger, or the guilt.

I see a woman who broke and slowly rebuilt herself. Not into who she was before, but into someone deeper.

Stronger, More real.

Because maybe motherhood is not about instantly loving every moment. Maybe it’s about growing into that love, even when it begins with resistance. Maybe it’s about accepting the chaos and shaping it, slowly, into something meaningful.

And today, when I look at my daughter…

I don’t see the life that took so much away from me. I see the life that taught me how to feel again.

How to change, how to become.

Not perfect.
Not easy.
But honest and quietly, beautifully mine.

Thank you 

Love

Mainu