Finally Feeling Like Myself

Or not.

I finally started feeling like myself again when my daughter was about 10 weeks old. We were so lucky to have a kid who likes sleep as much as we do, and around the 2 month mark, I could go out and see my friends, and listen to audiobooks, and be by myself.

I finally started feeling like myself again when my daughter was about 8 months old. I thought I was ‘back’ before, but it was a momentarily blip in the haze. My brain felt mushy and my body did, too. Now that I was done breastfeeding, my body was my own, and my little potato baby was starting to get a personality. I could go out and see my friends, listen to audiobooks, travel for work and fun, and be by myself.

I finally started feeling like myself again when my daughter turned a year old. We could do things together, and I could show her places I love like our local museum and my favorite parks. She napped once every day, so there was a pleasing morning and afternoon breakdown that gave me some much needed structure. I could go out and see my friends, listen to audiobooks, travel for work and fun, go on dates with my husband, take a pottery class, and be by myself.

I finally started. I finally was. I finally am. I finally. Finally. Finally.

My daughter turns two in a month, and I guess I am feeling like myself again. But this version of myself has aged. It’s easy to blame motherhood for who I am now. I can’t tell if being a mom has made me more myself or has completely reinvented me. Or if being a mom has less to do with it than I think it does. I picked up my life in 2021 and moved across the country to a place where I knew no one except my husband. In 2022, we bought a house. In 2023, I was pregnant, and 2024 made me a mom. 2025 is now almost over, and my feet are more under me than they’ve been in years.

I’m crafting again. I can read physical books again, after years of only having the capacity to listen to audiobooks. I decorated our house for the holidays for the first time in two years (2023, too pregnant; 2024, too tired). I’m taking sewing classes with my friends in the new year. But this is the ‘myself’ I remember? I don’t think so. I’m trying to remain neutral about it.

I’ve heard that it takes 7 years for all our skin to slough off and create all new skin cells.¹ The Claire of 7 years ago was newly married in her mid-late 20s in Chicago co-hosting a Hanukkah party where about 50 people streamed in and out of her condo eating latkes, playing dreidel like craps, and opening every window to let in the -10 degree cold into roasting hot party. I miss that. Tonight, we’re having a friend over for short rib ragu and a nice record playing in the background while George yells SHOES? SHOES? SHOES? on a loop (the girl loves shoes). A lovely night! A different night.

It feels boring to tell you that I’m a first-time-mom with a young kid who is figuring out who she is. I don’t even think that’s what’s happening. I think I just am grappling with being steady. This is my beautiful, special, little life. I love it, and I’m trying not to optimize every moment of it now that I feel grounded again. I also am trying not to romanticize the version of my life with less responsibilities and more time to lie in bed. Is this what trying to be present feels like? It’s disconcerting, but I'm working on it.

I’m finally feeling more like myself. Maybe. I’ll let you know.

1. I googled this and apparently it’s a myth? WTF.