Becoming a Mother

I was 25 when I became a mother. Within moments, my reality changed.

I am no longer the main character, the protagonist. I am no longer center stage. Each new generation comes (so it seems) and feels they know better, they are smarter, they won’t make the same mistakes as the previous generations. The future is in their hands.

And once, I was important, I knew better, I was smarter, my future was limitless. But that is not now. I (hopefully) have many years ahead of me, but the world’s future is in the hands of my daughter, and the children of my friends and sisters, children who will certainly feel themselves to be much clearer of vision, much surer of foot.

It’s not a bad thing. It is not a bad thing to become a supporting character after a lifetime of being Number One. A small death, perhaps. But I have been resurrected a Mother.

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*I want to note that for me, this transformation has been positive and humbling. I do not mean that my identity or self-hood has become subsumed into this “motherhood” role. I am myself as before, just a little more humble now, a little more able to sacrifice for others, a little more capable of seeing the needs of others as valid and important as my own.