It’s Not About Me Anymore

2. Before I became a mom, I thought I knew who I was. I had dreams, ambitions, and little rituals that made me feel like the star of my own story. Back then, the world seemed to bend around my choices. If I wanted to travel, I bought the ticket. If I wanted to work late, I did. I was the one moving the plot forward. But parenting rewrote the script. The moment my child came into the picture, I felt myself pushed out of the spotlight. Suddenly, I wasn’t the heroine chasing her dreams, I was the person backstage making sure the lights stayed on and the set didn’t collapse. The story wasn’t about me anymore; it’s not about me. My child became the main character, and I… well, I became more like the supporting role. Sometimes, even the silent extra. People like to romanticize this shift. They say, “You’ll find yourself in your children,” or “They’ll become your whole world.” And sure, there are moments that feel true. Watching my child laugh, or learning their first words, it’s enough to melt me. But there’s also a hidden ache that comes with it.

3. Because when your identity shrinks to “just mom,” you stop asking yourself those uncomfortable questions: What makes me happy? What am I here for outside of this? What other parts of me still deserve to be nurtured? It’s tempting to drown in parenting, to use the chaos as an excuse not to face yourself. I’ve seen parents handle it differently. Some people keep one child because it’s the only way they can still carry pieces of themselves forward, bring the kid along on work trips, juggle ambitions with motherhood, and stay in motion. Others have more kids and throw themselves completely into caretaking, because it’s easier to say “my kids are my everything” than to face the silence of who they are without them. But no matter how many children you have, there’s this undeniable truth: you are no longer the main character. Their needs come first. Your storyline bends around theirs.

4. And sometimes, that loss cuts deeper depending on the kind of love you grew up with. Not everyone had parents who showed up unconditionally. Some of us had moms who made help feel transactional, like their support depended on whether they approved of us in the moment. I’ll never forget one story I heard about a daughter who got into a car accident on an icy morning. She called her mom, shaken and freezing, just ten minutes away. And instead of rushing to her side, her mom made her wait until she was “ready” to leave the house. Instead of comfort, she got criticism. No warmth, no “I’m glad you’re okay.” When you grow up without that nurturing safety net, losing your own main character role as a parent feels even heavier. You wonder: if I’m not the star of my story anymore, and no one is shining the light on me, where do I even exist? Stepping out of the world’s spotlight doesn’t mean disappearing. For your children, you do become the main character, the one who carries the story, the source of safety, love, and direction. In their eyes, you are not secondary at all; you are the heart of the narrative. That’s the paradox of motherhood: even when the world stops giving you the center stage, your children can see you as the sun in their universe, the light they look up to, and the presence they feel at home with.

5. Parenting doesn’t give you easy answers. It strips away the idea that you can always choose yourself first. And maybe that’s the hardest part, coming to terms with a life where your joy, your identity, and your dreams have to fight for space in the margins. But here’s the quiet revelation: maybe being out of the spotlight isn’t erasure. Maybe it’s a transformation. The main character might be your child now, but you’re not gone. You’re the director, the stagehand, the writer of the story that lets them shine. You may not be center stage, but the story couldn’t exist without you. So no, parenting doesn’t leave much room for “main character energy.” But maybe that’s okay. Maybe this role; harder, quieter, often invisible, is the one that really holds the story together.

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