When Did I Stop Being Me?

There was a time I knew exactly what I liked.

I liked to read - not parenting books, just books. I liked to dress up for no reason. I liked long, pointless conversations over coffee with friends where nobody solved anything and everybody felt better. I liked having an opinion about things that had nothing to do with school fees or screen time or whether the dahi was set properly.

Then somewhere between the second child and the fifth year of school drop-offs, those things stopped being mine. They became things I used to do. Things I was going to get back to. Things that were waiting on the other side of 'once things settle down.'

Things never settle down. You just get more used to not having them.

If this is landing somewhere inside you right now - if there is a small, quiet recognition happening as you read this - then this is your article.

How It Happens - So Slowly You Don't Notice

Nobody loses themselves all at once. It doesn't happen in a single dramatic moment. It happens in the accumulation of a thousand small surrenders.

You stop going for your morning walk because the baby's schedule changed. You cancel plans with friends because the older one has a fever. You put away the book halfway through because the evening got busy. You tell yourself - next week, next month, after this phase.

And then one day you realise you can't quite remember what you were reading. Or what you were hoping for. Or even what kind of music you liked before the car became a vehicle for children's songs.

This is not a complaint. You made those choices from love. Every single one of them.

But love should not require the erasure of the person doing the loving.

Why This Matters - Not Just for You

Indian mothers are particularly vulnerable to this disappearance because the cultural script is very clear: a good mother gives everything. Her time, her body, her sleep, her ambitions - all of it flows outward toward her family. What flows back toward her is supposed to be enough.

But here is what nobody tells you: a mother who has lost herself is not a better mother. She is a more depleted one.

Children do not need a perfect mother. They need a mother who is present, alive, and recognisably herself. A mother they can look at and think: she has a life that is hers. She has things she loves. She is a whole person who also happens to love me enormously.

That is the model of womanhood you are building for your daughter. That is what your son will look for in the women he loves.

Coming back to yourself is not selfish. It is the most important parenting decision you will make.

The Signs You Have Drifted

Not everyone recognises this loss immediately. Here are some signs worth sitting with honestly:

• You cannot easily answer the question: 'What do you do for yourself?' without first mentioning your children
• You feel a low-level restlessness that you cannot name - not unhappy exactly, but not alive exactly either
• You resent, sometimes, the very people you love most - and then feel guilty for the resentment
• You have stopped pursuing something you once cared about and told yourself it doesn't matter anymore
• When someone asks 'how are you?', you answer in terms of your children: 'The kids are well, school is good.'
• You feel like you are watching your own life from a slight distance, going through the motions correctly

None of these make you a bad mother. They make you a human being who has been pouring outward for too long without refilling.

How to Come Back - Without Blowing Up Your Life

Coming back to yourself does not mean abandoning your family, quitting your responsibilities, or having a dramatic awakening. It means tiny, consistent acts of remembering.

Start with one question

'What did I love before I became a mother?' Not what was practical. Not what was impressive. What genuinely gave me pleasure - for no reason other than the pleasure itself?

Maybe it was dancing. Reading fiction. Sketching. Cooking something complicated just for fun. Sitting alone in a café for an hour. Write down the first three things that come to you.

Reclaim one thing - just one

Not a full lifestyle overhaul. One thing. Twenty minutes a week to start. Not because you have the time - you don't. Because you are choosing to make it count as a reason.

Someone once told me: 'You are always waiting for a perfect moment. Perfect moments are assembled from imperfect ones.'

He was, as usual, annoyingly right.

Stop justifying it

You do not need to explain to anyone why you went for a walk alone. Why you read for 30 minutes after the children slept. Why you said no to one commitment this week to protect one hour for yourself.

You do not owe anyone an apology for existing as a full human being.

Let your children see you doing it

This is the part most mothers miss. When your child sees you reading a book for pleasure - not a parenting book, a novel - they see a mother who has inner life. When they see you dance badly in the kitchen for no reason, they see joy that is not dependent on them. When they see you protect your evening walk, they learn that their own needs are also worth protecting.

You are teaching them how to be human. Show them the whole thing.

Starting This Week

• Write down three things you loved before you became a mother
• Choose one - and schedule 20 minutes for it this week, like an appointment
• Say no to one thing this week to protect that time
• Let your family see you doing it - no explanation needed
• When someone asks how you are, answer for yourself, not your children

You came into this role of mother as a complete person. You are still that person.