By Bartholomew Rosemary Ajueh
On a bright Saturday morning, Shade, Amaka and Puna met at the park, as they did almost every weekend after their workout.
Suddenly, a painful cry rang out nearby. A pregnant woman stood with her husband and another woman, who appeared to be her sister.
The three friends sighed. Each had experienced the realities of motherhood.
Shade looked away. “Motherhood is not just a word for a woman who starts giving birth. It is a journey a woman may not be prepared for, but one she still has to walk through.”
In many Nigerian households, girls are prepared early for life as wives and mothers. They are often expected to do more household chores than their brothers while keeping up with their studies. They are reminded of their future husbands’ homes, but little attention is paid to preparing them for motherhood.
Nobody tells them about the joy and struggle, the peace and chaos, the calm nights and sleepless ones. They are groomed to become good wives, daughters and sisters, then left to figure out how to become good mothers.
Amaka continued, “After having my baby, there was no adequate support. My mum was far away, and I almost traumatised myself and my child.
“I remember the fear in my daughter’s eyes when she was two. I thought I would become a bad mother because I did not know how to handle a toddler. I could not ask for help because I thought people would laugh at me.”
Shade sighed. “I remember crying after my first child’s naming ceremony. My mum scolded me instead of comforting me. She said it was a bad omen for a nursing mother to let tears fall on the breast her baby feeds from.
“She told me, ‘Go to the bathroom and wash yourself. I will talk to you later.’
“We never had that conversation. Women should be enlightened about the struggles of motherhood.”
Puna responded, “I had a heads-up, but some things were explained to me while others were never broken down.
“Come, sit, my friends. Let me break them down.”
Nobody Told Me That Becoming a Mother Could Make Me Miss the Woman I Used to Be
They told me about sleepless nights, endless feeding, crying, changing nappies and the sacrifices of raising a child. They told me motherhood would be beautiful, and they were right. They told me I would experience a love I had never known, and they were right about that, too.
But nobody prepared me for the quiet grief of becoming a mother, the feeling that somewhere along the way, you have changed.
Sometimes, I miss the woman I used to be. I miss having time for myself without guilt, doing something I love without worrying about everyone else, and making plans without thinking about feeding times, school runs and responsibilities. I miss sitting quietly with my thoughts without someone needing me.
And the hardest part? I feel guilty for missing her.
How do you explain that you love your child deeply, but still long for a little piece of your old life? How do you admit that motherhood is beautiful and exhausting, that your heart can be full of love while your body and mind are asking for rest?
Missing who I used to be does not mean I regret becoming who I am. It means I am human.
Motherhood has given me a love I cannot explain. It has shown me strength I did not know I had and patience I never thought I could possess. Some days, I look at my child and wonder how one little human being can hold so much of my heart. Other days, I wonder whether I will ever find my way back to the woman I was before everything changed.
Before I became somebody’s mother, I was somebody, too. I had dreams and things I wanted to accomplish. My identity should not have to disappear for my child to feel loved.
I can be a good mother and still have personal dreams. I can love my child and still need time alone. I can care for others without abandoning myself.
I hope my child will see a woman who loved her deeply and also learned to love herself, someone who knows that caring for others is beautiful, but that she deserves care, too.
I have not disappeared. Perhaps the woman I miss is beneath the exhaustion and responsibilities, waiting for me to make room for her again. I may not become exactly who I was before motherhood, but I can carry my dreams and responsibilities with grace, holding my child in one arm and my dreams in the other.
To the mother who looks in the mirror and wonders where she went: you are not ungrateful for missing your old life. You are not a bad mother because you need a break. You are not selfish because you still have dreams beyond your children.
Give yourself permission to rest, grow and rediscover the interests that make you who you are. Your child needs your love, but you deserve kindness from yourself, too.
Motherhood has changed me, but I am still here. Still dreaming. Still growing. Still becoming.
I do not have to choose between being a good mother and being a woman who wants something for herself. I can be both.
Somewhere between becoming a mother and learning how to mother, I deserve to find myself, too.
Bartholomew Rosemary Ajueh
Lifestyle Writer | Creative Writer | Scriptwriter
Bartholomew Rosemary Ajueh is a Nigerian lifestyle and creative writer with an HND in Mass Communication from The Federal Polytechnic, Bida, obtained in 2021. Her writing explores motherhood, womanhood, family relationships, personal identity, culture, social expectations and everyday human experiences. She has experience in children’s literature, creative and entertainment scriptwriting, promotional content and independent writing projects. She is the author of Adriel’s Word Book: The Story of the Bond Lake. Through thoughtful storytelling, human-interest writing and evidence-conscious social commentary, she seeks to explore social realities, amplify diverse perspectives and inspire meaningful conversations while upholding fairness, factual accuracy and responsible storytelling.
