The old me would be horrified

Your journal prompts this week:

What iterations of myself have existed in this lifetime? (For example, me before ________ happened, me before or after I learned/became ________. )

How might previous versions of myself view who I am today?

In what ways might previous versions of myself linger in my current story?

How can I honor previous versions of myself while acknowledging the strength of my current self?

If we're lucky, we get several decades on this planet, and in that time, we are ever evolving. We grow up, we experience the highs and the lows, we make great accomplishments, we make mistakes, we learn lessons, we experience love and loss. With each cycle, we gain wisdom that we can share with others, that become part of our greater story.

Thanks to my journaling and self-reflection practice, I've been able to witness these iterations of myself and their formation. I see what helped each phase begin and move along. With all new beginnings, there are endings, and I've had to say goodbye to old versions of myself.

They said I would mourn who I was before I had a baby. I didn't take this super seriously. Honestly, it was a little too much to think about. Sometimes the light is too bright to stare directly into, so we shade ourselves from it as long as possible.

I didn't necessarily see these major differences in myself all at once. I see them now in the little details, and some of these hit me harder than others.

Last week I had a moment where it hit harder, and with something that seems on the surface rather minor. But it represented a major shift to me, a glaring reminder of who I was before I became a mother, and who I am now.

I wrote something for a longtime client. And in it, I had misspelled a person's last name a couple different ways, all in the same document.

This might seem like just a small embarrassing story, an indicator of how divided my attention is. But the old Marcy would have been horrified at this seeming carelessness. All I could think about was how she never would have done this. She prided herself on high quality work and was trained in journalism school that mistakes like these lower your credibility significantly.

I definitely cried about this. The old me was suddenly very present, judging the new me harshly for my mistakes. I wasn't supposed to become one of those moms I heard other people talk about before I became a mom. I too often heard the comments said behind their backs, such as:

"The quality of her work has suffered."

"She can't be involved at the level we need her to be."

"Her attention is too divided, and right now, we need someone who can be committed."

"She needs to choose: is she about family right now or is she about business?"

This was not supposed to be me. And when I relive hearing statements like these, I can't help but think that sometimes mothers are set up to fail. But that's a whole other topic to dive into another time.

What I want to explore here is the relationship between the old self and the new self, and how the old self can sometimes linger, bringing its judgments with it. How can we better honor who once were, release that identity, and then wholly accept who we are now?

That I was a person who rarely ever made mistakes in her work, who could handle all of the projects handed to her, who was always available to quickly make something happen—that was just part of a story I told myself about who I was. I was told that these were qualities I should have in order to be successful, to prove my worthiness, and so I took them on as part of my identity.

Becoming a mother stripped this all away, quite simply because this can't be the number one priority anymore. I can't prioritize work all the time. I can't prioritize perfection. And yes, I cannot work as quickly and as flawlessly because of these new priorities. The new me needs space, time, grace . . . in everything outside of motherhood, she needs room for error without judgment.

The old me sees this as a bad thing. But to characterize it this way is much too simple. The new me knows there are many layers, and where certain things might be lost, others are gained.

I could go on here with all the typical things they say you gain in motherhood: an increased capacity for love, knowing your own strength, etc. These are true, but for some reason feel incomplete. Or perhaps like they are simplifications of a much more complicated process that cannot be adequately described.

What I personally have experienced is that with each iteration of myself, I discover more who I really am. And with each iteration, I look back with new perspective at my old self and see just how much I stood in my own way.

The protective cover of the perfect worker bee—I thought that was how I showed my devotion, my commitment. But in many ways, it held me back. It kept me from prioritizing myself, from prioritizing what and who I love. Who am I without taking on this persona? Well it turns out, I am so much more. It's a lovely quality to have, this loyalty, commitment, and drive for perfection, but it cannot be what defines me. It served me well for a time, but it cannot be me in all phases of my life.

My capacity to see myself beyond the conditioning has grown exponentially. I am more than a job. I am more than the work I do for others. And I am more than a mother, too. These are all aspects of my life, they are part of me, however who I am stands alone. It is not based off of definitions and accomplishments.

With each iteration, we shed our protective layers, we shed the old stories that people created for us and that we once believed in. Whether this shift is due to motherhood or something else entirely doesn't matter. We all have these periods of transformation brought on by a life event or circumstance, and with adequate self-reflection, we can see what we've let go of, what we've redefined, and how much closer we are to becoming and fully embracing ourselves—to living the real story we came here to tell.

What story did you come here to tell? What iterations of yourself have you witnessed? Allow yourself to explore with the journal prompts above.

With much love & gratitude,

Marcy