I Secretly Miss My Old Life

Confessions of a First-Time Mom

I didn't expect the grief.

Sure, I'd read about the sleepless nights, the cluster feeding, the diaper blowouts that defy physics. I'd been warned that my body would change, my hormones would riot, and my priorities would shift. But no one prepared me for the ache I felt for a version of me I didn't know I'd lose. The woman who danced in the kitchen without worrying about nap schedules. The one who booked spontaneous brunches, took long showers, and finished thoughts—complete thoughts—without a baby monitor buzzing in the background.

In the early weeks, I blamed exhaustion. But as time went on, the feeling didn't go away. I missed my old life—not because I didn't love my baby, but because I didn't feel like me anymore. And I felt horrible for even thinking it. I kept asking myself: "What kind of mom misses her old life?" Here's the answer I wish someone had given me then: an honest one.

You're Not a Bad Mom—You're a Human Being in Transition

Let's get something straight: loving your baby and missing your old life are not mutually exclusive.

You're allowed to mourn the loss of your freedom, your spontaneity, and yes—even your former identity. In fact, research shows that this feeling is incredibly common and deeply misunderstood. There's a term for what you're experiencing: matrescence—the physical, emotional, hormonal, and identity transformation that occurs when a woman becomes a mother. Think puberty, but on steroids, with less guidance and way more societal pressure to pretend you're #blessed all the time.

This internal identity shift doesn't happen overnight. It's messy, nonlinear, and rarely discussed in the open. So when we find ourselves looking at old photos and wondering, "Where did she go?", we assume something must be wrong with us. Spoiler: there's nothing wrong with you. You're evolving.

The Things I Missed Most (and Didn't Expect To)

At first, I thought I was just tired. Then I realized I was quietly mourning more than just sleep:

• I missed my autonomy. Being able to get in a car and go without prepping like I'm invading Normandy.
• I missed being productive in a way that felt measurable. Wiping butts and loading bottles doesn't exactly come with KPIs.
• I missed my emotional bandwidth. Before motherhood, I could hold space for friends, partners, and myself. Now? I can barely hold my pee.
• I missed the old version of my relationship. Date nights? Flirting? Eye contact? Ha.

It wasn't about resenting my baby. It was about resenting the silence around this topic. Why don't more people tell you that it's okay to feel this way?

Let's Talk About That Silent Grief

Here's something I learned after one-too-many late-night scrolls through r/beyondthebump and anonymous mom forums: everybody feels it, but nobody's saying it out loud.

There's a term psychologists use—ambiguous loss—which describes a grief that's not recognized by society, like mourning someone who is still alive. That's what this feels like. You're grieving the woman you were, even as you're learning to love the woman you're becoming. It's a complex emotional cocktail that no one warned you would be part of the new-mom starter kit.

But here's the good news: you're not stuck here. And you're not doing it wrong.

How I Started Feeling Like Myself Again (A Work in Progress)

Let me be clear: this isn't a "just do these 5 things and you'll feel whole again" list. Healing and reclaiming your identity takes time, permission, and sometimes professional support. But here's what helped me take the first steps:

1. I Gave Myself Permission to Say It Out Loud

The first time I whispered "I miss my old life" to a fellow mom, I cried harder than I expected. It wasn't guilt—it was relief. Admitting it didn't make me ungrateful. It made me honest. And honesty is the first step toward healing.

Try saying it. Even just to yourself. Out loud. In the mirror. In your Notes app. Wherever it feels safe.

"I miss my old life. And I still love my baby."

Both things can be true.

2. I Took Baby Steps Toward Old Joys

No, I didn't go clubbing or fly to Cabo. I started small:

• Wore my pre-pregnancy perfume again.
• Played music I loved instead of the "Sleepy Koalas" playlist.
• Texted an old friend and talked about something not baby-related.

These weren't about "getting my old life back." They were breadcrumbs leading me back to myself.

3. I Found My Filter-Free Mom Crew

You know the ones. The moms who'll admit they sometimes daydream about renting a hotel room alone for 48 hours. The ones who send memes about hiding from their toddlers in the bathroom. If you don't have these people yet, look for them. Online or IRL. Vulnerability builds bridges, and I promise—others are waiting for someone to go first.

4. I Asked for Help (And Let People Actually Help)

Listen, I know how hard this one is. But martyrdom doesn't win you any trophies—it just burns you out faster. Whether it's your partner, a parent, or paid support if you can afford it, take the help. You don't have to do it all. You shouldn't.

You're Not Broken. You're Becoming.

If you're reading this while holding a fussy baby, staring at a sink full of bottles, and wondering who the hell you are anymore, let me say this:

You're not failing. You're transforming.

The grief you feel isn't weakness—it's evidence that you're self-aware and growing. You can honor who you were while nurturing who you're becoming. And one day, not too far from now, you'll recognize yourself again—not as the old you, or the "perfect mom," but as a woman who walked through the fire of becoming, and came out softer, stronger, and more whole.