2019 was the year I became a mum. Or maybe it started in 2018 when I found out I was pregnant. I definitely feared for her safety and worried about whether she was ok when she was growing inside of me. I loved her and I cared for her.
However, we were one and then we became two. She was here in the outside world, fragile, incomplete and dependent on me to live. She had her own body, she had her own needs. She ate, then I ate. She slept, then I could sleep. Where I could still be me through the sickness, the fatigue, the aches and pains, now I was hers. She is mine, but I am now hers.
So 2019 became the year I grew less free, became tired, irritated, lost, confused and very much wanting to please. I became in charge of a little life that I wanted to see grow. And if that meant sacrificing myself – the independent, free and no drama/problems me, I was willing to do it. I still am.
But it has taken its toll. Who am I now that I can’t be me? Do I need to wait to become me again? Or am I becoming a different me?
I ask these questions and I have no answer.