I’m starting to see it now. Which must mean I’m slowly getting out of it. The transition. You have heard me talking about, or around it, since last October, returning from NYC, which apparently was my awareness session. Probably Clearly not fully understanding the change, but understanding it was coming.

I’m not out of it completely, but far enough to finally understand what this phase has actually been about. For a long time, I thought the hard part was having time. Time to do new things. Time that was supposed to feel like freedom.

But that wasn’t it.

What I didn’t understand was what this time symbolized. And what it quietly required me to grieve. This wasn’t about more free hours in the day. It was about a role loosening its grip. An identity shifting.

When you’ve been deeply engaged as a mother, your life isn’t just busy, it’s oriented. Your attention, your sense of purpose, your emotional focus are always directed outward. And then, slowly, that pull weakens.

Not because you love less. But because you are needed differently. What’s left is space. And space doesn’t automatically feel liberating. It can feel confusing. Even uncomfortable.

I kept wondering why I didn’t just start doing something. Why I didn’t find something to enjoy. I understand now, it wasn’t boredom. It was grief.

Grief over being essential every single day. Over a version of myself that always knew exactly what needed to be done, and for whom. That identity doesn’t disappear quietly. It asks to be acknowledged before it can be released.

I don’t think I need to find myself again. I don’t think I ever lost myself. But I have to allow myself to give me permission to reinvent myself. Learning how to live with space, without rushing to fill it.

PS. it is almost magical that I can remember and will have visual memories the day I understood what it meant to be a mother and today, what it meant to be a mother without children.