What If Getting Lost in Motherhood Is the Point?

The Motherhood Metamorphosis

I am in the blur, or at least that’s what I am calling it. No longer who I once was and no idea who I am becoming. A blur of old me slowly merging into new me, yet neither picture is clear. I didn’t think the idea of motherhood would change me. I hung onto the idea of new-age feminism that I didn’t have to sacrifice any part of myself during this process and that I could maintain the same life I did pre-pregnancy, but for me, that simply hasn’t been the case. I have had to sacrifice a lot of who I once was, and despite the notion that tells me I am losing something, I cannot help but feel like I am gaining more.

I have spent my life surrounded by women who have dedicated their entire lives to being mothers, my own mother included. Since we have all grown up and left, I have watched her try to figure out who she is, what she loves, and struggle to put her needs before those of anyone else—not knowing where we end and she begins.

I have seen countless women fall prey to the self-sacrifice that comes with motherhood, without the tools or knowledge to hold or grow through the process. But what if it doesn’t have to be this way? What if we can allow ourselves to get lost whilst simultaneously welcoming in the new parts of ourselves? Can we nurture our babies whilst also nurturing ourselves?

I believe we can. And I also believe we are now in a position to better understand and support women through the metamorphosis of motherhood, encouraging these new parts of them into existence. We can be both mother and woman.

My whole life, I have dreamed of being a mother. I have dreamed of the day I would get to nurture someone into existence, and this journey has shown me that whilst I am nurturing her into existence, I am also nurturing parts of myself—the parts I have been cut off from, the parts I have been taught make me weak or not as worthy as the men around me. The softness of the feminine has been returning to my body now for several months, and it has made me realise that I still stand behind the controls of the masculine at times. The constant forward momentum, the need to achieve, to prove. Never in my life have I allowed myself such grace to take a step back, to nurture, to love, to care, to nest—and it feels intoxicatingly good. So good, in fact, that I want to continue drinking from this cup.

Never in a million years would I have considered a successful day to be one spent baking banana muffins, decluttering the house, and reading a book, but here we are. Now, this isn’t about becoming a trad wife or creating a homestead (although homesteading does sound very appealing); it is about feeling into the feminine and feeling value in that space.

The care, love, and attentiveness I am showing towards her, I am also directing towards myself—because I am the one carrying her. It took me creating a life to give myself permission to let go of the reins of control and allow the feminine to flood in.

For example, my body no longer works the way it used to. We once danced together, knowing exactly what stretches or exercises to do or what foods to eat. Now, I feel like every day is a constant inquiry. Each day presents new challenges: sleep deprivation, aching hips, sore boobs, and a waddle that seems to have sprung from nowhere. At times, I feel frustrated that I cannot move or get comfortable like I used to, and it is in those moments that I have to remind myself to be gentle, to surrender. After all, I am growing a life. Whilst parts of my body no longer feel like my own, I have never felt more connected to other parts. I hold my stomach every day, connecting with tiny baby movements, feeling incredibly grateful that my body is able to carry my daughter. The added weight I see in the mirror would have once made me self-conscious, but instead, it makes me feel empowered. The knowledge that I am creating a life makes the aching hips and sore boobs feel so small in comparison.

I have also never given myself permission to slow down or cocoon in the way I am doing, and in this process, I have met softer parts of myself. Like the fact that I enjoy nesting. I love cleaning, decluttering, reorganising, and preparing. It makes me feel good.

I have also realised that I hate business, which is incredibly ironic since my whole adult life I have desperately tried to create successful business after successful business. This time has made me realise it isn’t for me, and that’s OK. I don’t need to continue trying to achieve something that brings me little joy out of the hope that it would validate me to others. The irony that I have spent my whole adult life trying to make myself good at something I don’t enjoy. Instead, I get to focus on the things I do love: coaching, writing, and connecting with women. The whole boss babe energy isn’t for me, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders in accepting that.

I, Millee Johnson, am not a boss babe, and it doesn’t make me any less of an empowered woman.

I have also realised that despite being able to live comfortably as an boss babe, I am not very good at it! My expansion within that space has been limited, and I always thought it was because I was sabotaging myself, trying to keep myself small. I now realise it was so out of alignment. It simply isn’t for me. The jobs I have excelled in the most haven’t been when I have been the founder or the CEO; they have been when I have been able to focus on people or experiences. This is where I shine, and this is what makes me happy—not being the person with the weight of all the responsibility on their shoulders. So if you ever see me trying to be a CEO or Director of a business, you have full permission to remind me: girl, this isn’t for you.

This is one of the many gifts I am realising my daughter has given me at 38 weeks pregnant.

The other gift of pregnancy has been having to ask for and accept help—not only from the people I love but from complete strangers too. I used to take such pride in my independence, feeling like this was an empowering action; however, I am now realising there is nothing more empowering than asking someone to help or receiving help that is freely offered. People opening doors, giving up their seats, carrying my bags—all of it would have once made me feel weak; however, now it makes me feel cared for. I also see how, when I was trying to be a founder or a CEO, I never asked for help, even when I was drowning. Whether this is a me thing or a pressure lots of founders and CEOs face, who knows, but what I see is that I have been carrying out roles, professionally and personally, that are heavy. Putting down that weight is both scary and freeing.

So whilst there are many out there who say you don’t have to lose yourself to motherhood, I am saying—let yourself get lost if it feels good.

Motherhood has proven to be a beautiful transition for me—from who I once was into who I am becoming. It is stripping away the parts of me that I have been resisting letting go of and, in the process, showing me new possibilities.

These final weeks are a mix of wanting her to arrive—mainly because my hips are so sore that sleep is impossible—but also wanting to stay in this space, in this blur. It isn’t often in life that we spend nine months transforming from the inside out, and while at times I have tried to resist the changes, the space of accepting is guiding me somewhere. I don’t know who I will be when she arrives, and I don’t know how my life will change, but I do know it will change.

The idea that motherhood doesn’t have to change who you are just hasn’t been my experience, and instead of fighting it, I am excited for everything it is showing me.

I know that in a few weeks’ time, the very core of who I am will change forever—it has already started to—and the surprise of not knowing what that looks like is something I am choosing to invite.

Will I flourish at motherhood? Will I be inspired? Will new ideas birth from this experience?

I have no idea.

But I am excited to find out.

And maybe that’s the whole point of motherhood—allowing myself to get lost so that parts of me can be found.