Soft Life, Hard Truths

I know I’m a good mom.

I show up. I care deeply. I anticipate needs before they’re spoken. I hold emotional space, manage logistics, and stay present even when I’m exhausted.

And still, there are moments when I feel like an empty person.

Not unhappy. Not ungrateful. Just… hollow.

Good Motherhood Can Still Cost You Yourself

No one warns you that you can do everything “right” and still lose parts of yourself.

You don’t disappear all at once. You fade gradually — through constant prioritization of others, through emotional availability that’s rarely reciprocated, through days where your inner life has nowhere to land.

Being a good mother doesn’t automatically mean being a whole person.

Emptiness Isn’t the Same as Depression

This emptiness isn’t sadness.

It’s absence.

An absence of desire. Of direction. Of connection to who you are beyond responsibility.

You function. You care. You love.

But internally, something feels uninhabited.

That distinction matters, because it’s often misunderstood — by others and by yourself.

When Identity Gets Deferred Indefinitely

Motherhood often comes with an unspoken expectation: you’ll come back to yourself later.

Later, when things calm down. Later, when they’re older. Later, when there’s more space.

But “later” keeps moving.

And in the meantime, your identity stays deferred — postponed so many times it begins to feel optional.

That’s when emptiness settles in.

Why Praise Can Feel Strangely Invalidating

“You’re such a good mom.”

It’s meant kindly. And sometimes it lands.

Other times, it feels like the only version of you that exists.

As if goodness is measured solely by how much of yourself you give away.

When all your worth is reflected back through caregiving, there’s no mirror for the rest of you.

That absence is isolating.

The Quiet Grief No One Talks About

There’s a grief that comes with losing access to yourself.

Not because motherhood is wrong — but because selfhood matters too.

Grief for the version of you who had internal space. Who thought freely. Who wanted things without guilt. Who wasn’t always needed.

That grief doesn’t mean you want a different life.

It means you want more room inside the one you have.

Why This Emptiness Often Goes Unnamed

Emptiness feels inappropriate to admit.

How can you feel empty when you’re surrounded by people who need you? When your days are full? When love is constant?

So instead of naming it, you internalize it.

You assume something is wrong with you — that you’re broken, selfish, or ungrateful.

But emptiness isn’t a moral failure.
It’s a signal.

What Started to Shift Things for Me

The shift didn’t come from doing more.

It came from noticing when I was absent from my own life.

From asking:

• What do I need that isn’t about anyone else?
• Where do I feel most like myself?
• What parts of me have been quiet for too long?

Those questions didn’t immediately fill the emptiness — but they created openings.

Reclaiming Selfhood Without Abandoning Motherhood

This isn’t about choosing between yourself and your children.

It’s about refusing to erase yourself in the process of loving them.

Wholeness doesn’t require less care — it requires inclusion.

You don’t need to become someone new.
You need to come back to who you already are.

If You Feel This Too

If you’re a good mom and still feel empty, you’re not failing.

You’re responding to a life that asks a lot and rarely pauses to ask how you are doing.

Emptiness isn’t the end of the story.

It’s the place where reconnection begins.