Rediscovering Yourself After Motherhood — When You’ve Been Everything for Everyone
There was a time—not so long ago—when I’d catch my reflection and not recognize the woman staring back. I wasn’t just tired. I was invisible, even to myself.
I had three beautiful children, a full-time job, and the kind of to-do list that never seemed to end. I was the reliable one. The strong one. The “she always figures it out” one. And while I carried all those roles, I also carried an unbearable grief—one that lived quietly behind my eyes, behind every packed lunch and bedtime story.
In 2021, I lost my mom, my anchor, my rock. The grief came in waves—some loud, some silent—but always present. Nine months later, I lost my grandmother too. The women who raised me, who shaped me, were suddenly gone. I didn’t have time to fall apart. I had kids who needed me. A job that demanded me. A home that needed holding together.
And in the background of all that—I was walking through a divorce.
No one saw the full weight of what I was carrying. I barely did.
I never stopped being a mother. I never stopped working. I never let go of the wheel. But somewhere in the doing, in the surviving, I lost the thread of who I was. I forgot what made me laugh. What made me feel beautiful. What made me feel me.
The Quiet Disappearance
Everyone talks about how motherhood is the greatest gift—and it is. But no one warns you how completely it can consume you. Instead, you’re expected for it to. Expected to put it first, always. If you don’t, you’re selfish. If you struggle, you’re ungrateful. And before you even realize it, you start disappearing—not because you want to, but because the world told you that’s what a “good mom” does.
Especially when you’re the one who always shows up. The strong one. The dependable one. The one who never lets the ball drop. You get so used to holding it all together, you forget what it feels like to hold yourself.
I wasn’t neglecting myself in the obvious ways. I still brushed my teeth, showed up to school events, checked the boxes. But I had stopped choosing myself in the ways that mattered. I stopped buying clothes that made me feel good. I stopped listening to music that lit me up. I stopped making space for things that weren’t about survival or responsibility.
Grief made it worse. It has a way of reshaping you without permission. There were days when I felt like I was walking through fog—functioning, but not really living.
And then came the divorce. Another identity stripped away. Another set of questions I didn’t have answers to.
Who was I now?
Not just someone’s daughter. Not just someone’s wife. Not just “Mom.”
I didn’t have a roadmap. I had moments. Little flickers that reminded me I still existed under all the roles I played.
Getting Back to Myself—Sort Of
It didn’t start with some breakthrough moment. No perfect morning routine. No therapist handing me a guide on how to get my shit together.
It started with survival. With standing in the kitchen, crying over dishes. With texting my sister late at night just to say, “hi, i’m sad” or “hi, I miss mom”.
It started with women—my friends, my sister, even strangers online—who reminded me that I wasn’t alone.
We don’t always get the space to fall apart. So we hold each other up.
Sometimes with advice. Sometimes with silence. Sometimes with just a “you’re doing better than you think.”
Piece by piece, I began to find myself again—not in some magical transformation, but in small choices.
Putting on music that made me feel something. Saying no when I meant it.
Wearing a top that made me feel like I had a body—not just a role.
It wasn’t about going back to who I was. She’s gone.
It was about becoming someone I could live with—someone I actually recognized.
That’s where A Lil Bit of Biz came from. From exhaustion. From grief. From needing a space to breathe—and wanting other women to have one too.
Not for the ones who have it all figured out.
But for the ones like me. Like us. Who are tired of pretending. Who need someone to say, “Me too”.
This Mother’s Day, I’m Holding Space for All of It
This year, Mother’s Day is full of feeling. It’s not simple. It’s not pretty. But it’s honest.
I miss my mom every day.
I miss her laugh, her warmth, her voice that could settle me with just a sentence.
I miss my grandmother’s steadiness. She was soft-spoken, but unshakable. She didn’t tell you what to do—she just lived it.
And I miss the version of myself I was before I had to be strong for everyone else.
But I’m also proud of the version that survived. That woke up when everything felt broken. That found a way to keep loving her kids while grieving the people who raised her.
This year, I’m not trying to curate the perfect Mother’s Day post or buy myself flowers to prove a point.
This year, I’m honoring the complexity.
The love and the loss.
The joy and the resentment.
The exhaustion and the quiet courage it takes to start again.
To the moms who feel like they disappeared in the process—this is for you.
To the daughters who are grieving and mothering at the same time—you’re not alone.
To the women who are holding it all together, barely—you don’t have to do it alone.
If You Need Somewhere to Start—This Might Help
I don’t have it all figured out. But I’ve learned that starting is enough.
That showing up—messy, unsure, unfinished—is still showing up.
So if you’re in that place, we made something for you. Not a guide. Not a fix. Just a gentle invitation back to yourself.
Download the Free Rediscovery Workbook
It’s soft. It’s simple. It’s honest. And it’s yours.
Take what you need. Leave what you don’t.
Start with one breath.
One truth.
One you.
Because you are still in there, and you are worth rediscovering.
Toodles for now!
~ Angelita <3