I have been contemplating my identity as a mother after cancer. Do I want to be an elder emo cool mom, a minimalist homestead mama? It only dawned on me recently why I was so concerned with this.
I walk a lonely road
Every parent goes through some sort of change in self-identification post-birth. I am not trying to be gender-exclusionary, but I feel like it is more significant for mothers. Especially mothers who breastfeed, which I did not. Researchers are increasingly studying the process of matrescence.
There is so much more pressure put on the image of what society calls “mother.” She has to be very demure, very mindful. For some reason, there is this push to give up any sort of self-image that is unique or doesn’t give off the image of someone who is nurturing.
I was already in contemplation of what genre of mother I wanted to be when I gave birth. Then everything got completely derailed. Until recently I was forced to be defined as a cancer patient and NICU mama. Despite being that person in my own way, such as putting the emo back in chemo, it still provided the outline of my day-to-day. Even when the baby came home, I still battled cancer. It was matrescence thrown in the dumpster and set on fire.
I’m okay, trust me
Now I’m in the survivor camp. And more than that, as of a week ago-ish, I don’t have to do treatment anymore. I am now contemplating my identity as a mother after cancer. I feel like I should feel relief. Shouldn’t I be jumping for joy? It should feel like I have a new lease on life and I can go and do anything.
That…is not how I feel. I feel exhausted trying to keep up with a baby who is speed crawling up the stairs, pushing up on everything, and thinks they can stand but they are just short of that. But beyond that, I feel…lost. I don’t know who I am anymore. I feel loved and loving to be sure. But I don’t know who I am supposed to be outside of Mama.
That’s not super surprising to me. As a millennial with three college degrees, I am used to pushing myself toward a goal past burnout. The big goal is now gone. I have been fighting for it for 18 months. Now, my brain is floundering for a new thing to focus on. I guess that is my self-image, or at least wrapped up in it.
So here I am it’s in my hands
So I guess that’s it. I am feeling like, what’s next? And I keep trying to tell myself there doesn’t have to be anything. This can just be it. Existence is enough.
I won’t or can’t hear it. Get chickens. Be the goth girl. Learn to skateboard. Give even more to work. Give less to work and more to motherhood despite already giving more than you have to motherhood. Pick up something new. Read more. Game more. Start a wardrobe of outfits you see on other people that you think look cute. Bake more. Get more plants. More, more, more. Why?
Can’t I just wear what’s in my closet that I feel like in that moment? Why can’t I consume a small amount of books as time allows? Why can’t I just exist?