The Space Between Who You Were and Who You’re Becoming
May 04, 2025
There’s a silence that comes after birth—not the sweet silence of a sleeping baby, but a deeper, more bewildering one. A silence in the mirror. A quiet ache where your identity used to live.
No one really prepares you for that part.
They talk about sleep deprivation, about feeding, about the logistics of baby care. But they don’t talk about the internal rupture. The way you can grieve a version of yourself while holding the most beautiful thing you've ever created. The way the world keeps spinning while you stand in the raw, sacred pause between who you were and who you're becoming.
Postpartum is not just a recovery. It’s a reckoning.
It is a slow unfurling. A peeling away of layers—of certainty, of structure, of who you thought you were. You may find yourself unrecognizable—not just physically, but emotionally, spiritually. The things that used to light you up might feel dull. The ambitions you once chased may suddenly seem irrelevant. The edges of your personality may blur as you pour every ounce of yourself into caring for another.
And still… beneath the exhaustion and the stretch marks and the mental load… there’s a becoming.
You’re not broken. You’re becoming.
You’re learning what it means to mother—not just your child, but yourself.
You’re discovering the strength it takes to hold space for joy and grief in the same breath.
You’re learning how to rebuild slowly, honestly, gently.
You might feel isolated—but you are not alone.
The truth is, this in-between space—this quiet stretch of uncertainty—is profoundly sacred. It’s where the seeds of the new self take root. It’s where your nervous system whispers for nourishment. Where your body asks to be touched with reverence. Where your intuition begins to speak more loudly than ever.
It’s where you realize that the woman you were didn’t disappear.
She dissolved to make space for someone even more whole.
So if you find yourself in that space—where the roles feel heavy, the silence feels loud, and the reflection in the mirror feels unfamiliar—pause.
Not to fix or rush or return.
But to witness. To grieve. To reintroduce yourself to you.
You are not behind. You are not lost. You are becoming.
And that, dear one, is sacred.
Notes from the Sacred Journal
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