When Motherhood Feels Like a Job, You Didn't Apply For
“The emotional weight and vulnerability of motherhood, isn’t something that anyone prepares you for”
Somewhere between the night feeds, the meltdowns, and the terrifying hypervigilance associated with flight risk children...…I realised something:
I didn’t apply for this version of motherhood.
I love my kids deeply, wildly, in that primal lioness “back away from my child” kind of way. But some days? I feel like a ghost in my own life. And before anyone says, “Oh but you’re so lucky to stay at home…” Please. Try being the snack-fetcher, emotional regulator, unpaid event manager, human Alexa, and the person who knows where literally everything is, all day, every day. And tell me that’s restful.
The Mental Load is Not Just in Your Head
Motherhood didn’t come with a job description. But if it did, it would include:
24/7 availability (especially at 11.20pm, 1.25am, 3:17am)
Zero paid leave even when you have the norovirus
Emotional labour so heavy it deserves its own Pilates studio
Unspoken guilt if you ever admit... “I’m not happy.”
And the kicker? No one claps for you. Not when you catch the vomit mid-air. Not when you cook three different meals at one dinner time, wash everyone’s underwear, and defuse four meltdowns before 8am.
“I Don’t Know Who I Am Anymore” And That’s the Part That Hurts
What no one tells you is this: You can adore your child and still grieve the woman you were before. You can want the best for your family and still feel utterly drained by being everything for everyone. You can even find yourself fantasising about checking into a hotel alone for the weekend, just to drink a hot coffee in silence without someone shouting “MUM!” from the toilet.
(If that’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.)
Some days, she lets the weight settle: the emotional overwhelm, the sacrifice, the self-she’s trying to remember!
You’re Not Failing: You’re Just Running Without Refuelling
Let me say this clearly: You are not broken. You are burnt out from running a household, a schedule, and the emotional wellbeing of tiny, beautiful humans, often without acknowledgment or relief. You’ve forgotten yourself because the world convinced you that your needs can wait.
But guess what? You get to want more. You get to miss yourself. You get to need a damn break! And an uninterrupted shower? That doesn’t count because it is a basic need, not self-care. It took me thirty-seven years, an undignified meltdown in my headteacher’s office, and a round of CBT therapy to finally learn that little nugget of wisdom. Listen, take it from me, honestly, lots of littles make a lot. Start today. Or tomorrow. Or sometime this week. But start, okay? You don’t need to wait for permission to begin rediscovering you.
Real Talk: 3 Tiny Ways to Reclaim Yourself This Week
1. Change Your Background Noise
Turn off the kid shows and put on music that makes you feel alive. Dance while folding laundry. Pretend you're on stage at Glastonbury, if that will get you moving. Screw the judgmental stares from the cat.
2. Steal Back 10 Minutes a Day
Set a timer. Lock the bathroom door. Journal. Stretch. Breathe. Scroll Pinterest guilt-free. Don’t overthink it! Just take the moment.
3. Say It Out Loud
“I need help.”
“This is too much.”
“I’m tired of doing everything.”
Your voice matters, even if it’s shaky. Especially then.
Final Thoughts
If no one’s told you lately:
You are not lazy.
You are not a bad mum for needing space, a good cry, a hug and a something for you.
You are not weak for craving more than nappies and grocery lists.
You're exhausted because you care so much and you’ve been running on fumes.
But you're still in there.
And you're allowed to find yourself again, even if you have to sneak out the back door of motherhood and meet her in the car park with snacks and a Spotify playlist. If you would like a free gift to help you start, I’ve made this for you:
Free Download: Mini-Journal for the Woman Who Misses Herself
“5 Prompts to Reconnect With the Woman You Were Before the Motherhood Took Over”
It’s like therapy, minus the awkward eye contact. No fluff. No pressure. Just a gentle nudge back to you.
Love,
Diane x
PS: Still figuring it out, still winging it, still slightly traumatised from giving birth with only gas and air. But hey, we’re doing our best! And that’s enough for me.
If this post resonated with you. If you’ve ever felt like you stumbled into motherhood without a map, and you’d like to support more honest writing like this, you can always buy me a coffee. It’s a small gesture that means a lot, and it helps keep the words (and laptop upgrade) flowing. Thank you for being here.
Real Talk: Tell me in the comments, ‘What’s something you need more of in your Motherhood journey?’