It’s been a month since I had a baby.

And the honest-to-God truth?

I’m not OK.

No, I’m not. Not at all.

Now, before you assume the worst, I promise that it’s an “OK” kind of “not OK”.

I’m not OK because I’m frustrated. I’m impatient. I’m stuck.

I’m not OK because I’m losing my “self” in motherhood.

Yes, I spelled that intentionally.

I’m losing my “self”—two separate words. My sense of self. My sense of autonomy.

Right now, my time is occupied entirely by two beautiful, precious, demanding, tiring little beings I am so honored and exasperated and grateful and resentful to call my children.

Which means that right now, I am a leaky, hormonal, disheveled, frazzled mama who is trying to do all the things and feeling like absolutely none of those things are getting the time or attention they deserve.

It means that right now, my brain is mush. My thoughts are stilted and slow.

It means that right now, my days are so redundant and so long and so busy but somehow at the end of them I always find myself questioning, “What did I actually accomplish today?”

And it means that right now, I honestly can’t remember and I honestly can’t answer.

It means that right now, there is no time for all the other “selfs” I aspire to, and my “mama” self is dominant. I’ve ceased to become separate from this role, and that’s why I am losing my mind a little, too.

And I know this is just a season.

I know it won’t always be like this.

I know I need to practice patience.

I know I need to show myself grace.

But I want this season to be over.

There, I said it.

I want it to be over.

Because I’ve gained so much, but I’m losing so much, too.

I’m losing the parts of myself that made me feel like a productive, contributing member of society.

The parts that made me feel smart and witty and respected and competent.

The parts that made me feel desiring and desirable.

The parts that made me, well, me. When it was just me.

And while I would never, ever want it to be just me ever again, I’m still waiting. Waiting for this phase to be over.

I know some day, it will be.

Some day, I will have both my body and my autonomy back.

Some day, my days will fly by and I’ll look back and realize it’s been not only days, but weeks and months and years, and how did it all go by so fast?

Some day, I will have my “self” back.

Not the same one as before, but one who is perhaps a little softer around the edges, a little worn down, but somehow stronger at the same time.

But right now, if I’m being really and truly honest, I want this part to be over.

And maybe that’s OK.

Even if I’m not.

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