Dear Victoria,
Yesterday, while scrolling through my phone looking for something completely different, I stumbled upon an old photo of you.
There you were – laughing freely at Sarah’s birthday party, wine glass in one hand, the other tossed casually in the air.
Your hair was perfectly styled, nails freshly done, makeup intact even after hours of dancing.
You looked so light, so rested, so… free.
My heart did this little squeeze.
Not in a sad way exactly, but in that soft, nostalgic way that catches you off guard. I miss you sometimes. I really do.
Back then, your life felt like it belonged completely to you.
Weekends were for spontaneous brunches that stretched into long afternoons of laughter and gossip.
You could decide at 7 PM to go catch a movie and not worry about whether the cinema had changing facilities or if you’d be too tired to drive back.
Gym sessions? You actually showed up consistently.
Sleep came easily – no little feet kicking you in the ribs at 3 AM, no sudden cries that jolted you from deep sleep.
Your body was just yours.
You could wear whatever you wanted without thinking about accessibility for breastfeeding or hiding postpartum bumps.
Leaving the house was as simple as grabbing your bag and keys.
No survival kit of snacks, wipes, extra clothes, diapers, or that one toy that prevents meltdowns.
Oh, how I miss peeing alone. Or reading a book at night without my eyes burning from exhaustion.
Those size 8 shoes? They sat proudly in the closet.
Now, most of them feel like a distant memory, replaced by comfortable flats and anything with stretch.
Then motherhood arrived – beautiful, overwhelming, exhausting, and life-changing all at once. It didn’t come with a gentle introduction.
One day, you were Victoria, living life on your own terms. Next, you were responsible for a tiny human who depended on you for everything.
Suddenly, “me time” became a luxurious five-minute shower where you begged the universe that no one would start screaming your name.
Late-night reading sessions turned into collapsing on the couch by 9 PM, phone in hand, too tired to even scroll properly.
Your cute, fitted outfits gave way to anything forgiving and practical.
Your days became a blur of feedings, diaper changes, rocking, worrying, and loving so fiercely it sometimes felt like your heart might burst.
But here’s the truth: I wish I could sit down and tell pre-mom me, maybe over a quiet cup of coffee, before life got this loud: You didn’t disappear. You didn’t lose yourself.
You simply leveled up in ways you never could have imagined.
That independent, carefree girl is still here.
She’s just learned how to function on fragmented sleep and still show up with love every single day.
She’s discovered a strength she never knew she possessed – the kind that lets her comfort a crying toddler while cooking dinner, answer work emails with one hand, and still find the energy to dance to nursery rhymes in the living room.
She laughs at the hilarious logic of little children, cries at the smallest milestones (that first step, that first “I love you, Mummy”), and has opened her heart to a love so deep and raw that it actually hurts sometimes.
I won’t lie – some days are really hard.
There are moments when I look at the pile of laundry, the scattered toys, the unwashed dishes, and the stretch marks that tell their own story, and I wonder if I’ll ever feel like “me” again.
The spontaneity is gone.
The freedom to just… go has changed.
But in its place has come something richer.
More mess, yes. More noise. More chaos.
But also more giggles that echo through the house, more sticky hugs, more heart-exploding moments of pride and tenderness.
Motherhood didn’t take you away, Victoria.
It added beautiful, complicated layers.
It stretched you.
It humbled you.
It showed you what unconditional love really looks like.
It taught you patience on days when you thought you had none left.
It made you softer in some ways and incredibly fierce in others.
You’ve become the kind of woman who can find joy in the middle of the madness – catching yourself smiling while watching your child sleep peacefully after a long day, or feeling warmth spread through your chest when they run to you with open arms, shouting “Mummy!”
To every mama reading this who is right in the thick of it – whether you have a newborn who barely lets you sleep, a toddler who tests every boundary, or bigger kids who still need you in a thousand different ways – please hear this: You are not “just a mom.” You are the old you, plus an entire new superpower you’re still learning to master.
Be kind to yourself on the hard days.
The days when you feel like you’re failing.
The days when you miss your old life so much it aches.
The old you isn’t gone.
She’s just learning a new dance now – one with more toys on the floor, more “I love you’s” whispered at bedtime, more handprints on the walls, and way, way more meaning.
It’s okay to miss the freedom.
It’s okay to grieve the spontaneity and the quiet mornings.
Those feelings don’t make you a bad mother; they make you human.
But don’t stay stuck there.
Look at how far you’ve come.
Look at the love you’re pouring out daily.
Look at the little humans growing under your care.
This season won’t last forever, even though it sometimes feels like it will.
One day you’ll look back and miss these chaotic, sticky, noisy days too.
So while we’re in it, let’s try to embrace it – the good, the hard, the beautiful mess.
With a heart full of love (and probably some oil stains on my shirt),
The woman I am now 💕💕💕
What about you, dear mama?
What do you miss most about your pre-mom life? Was it the sleep, the freedom, the body confidence, or something else entirely?
And what has surprised you the most about motherhood – the challenges or the unexpected joys?
Drop your thoughts in the comments below.
Let’s share our stories, laugh together, and remind each other that we’re not alone in this beautiful journey.
I read every single comment.
You’ve got this, mama.
🥰🥰🥰