The Postpartum: Embracing your Changing Identity

When my children were younger and woke in the middle of the night, or first thing in the morning, they would call for me. Without fail: “Mummmmmmy!?!”

If you have young children, you’ll know this moment well. In these early years, we are the sun in their little universe. Their comfort, their anchor, their everything.

I’ll be honest: I went through a season where I dreaded that cry. I was exhausted, sleep-deprived to the point of desperation, just hoping for a single three-hour stretch of uninterrupted rest. One of my children didn’t sleep through the night until he was four (yes, really!). I relied on many different coping techniques to get through those days.

Gradually, I began to reframe my thinking. My son needed me. Not just in a casual way, he truly needed me. I was one of only two people who could chase away his night terrors, ease his upset tummy, fetch a drink for a parched little mouth, or summon back the sleep fairies.

Never before had someone been so utterly dependent on me. Of course, I knew from the moment I became a mother that I was signing up to feed, clothe, nurture, and guide this little human to adulthood. But I didn’t grasp how deeply emotional, how relentlessly constant, that responsibility would be. Until I lived it.

Eventually, I made a choice: to stop resisting it and start embracing it. That shift changed everything.

At the time, a friend once said I had changed my identity. I denied it, vehemently, even. But in hindsight, she was right. I had changed. And in my own way, I stepped into the archetype of the Earth Mother. Not by accident, but by choice. And because I chose it, I didn’t resent my role, or my son, or my circumstances. I honored it. I saw its worth. And from that place of value, I realized I was living a kind of success that felt profoundly meaningful.

The author Lucy Pearce describes two mothering archetypes: the Ecstatic Rainbow Mother and the Nurturing Earth Mother. Recognizing myself in the latter helped me understand my instincts, my choices, and my approach to parenting.

For a while, I used the label “attachment parenting,” because it helped people understand what I was doing. But after a few years, I let the label go. I didn’t need a definition anymore. I knew who I was. I knew what I’d chosen. And that inner clarity was enough.

So, I invite you to reflect:

How do you think you’ll respond when another human is completely dependent on you, 24/7? Will your identity shift, or stay the same? And how do you feel about that possibility?