How starting a family prompted my identity crisis

For as long as I can remember, my drive is what defined me. I have always been known for being unapologetically driven, ambitious, a go-getter. I was sure of myself, I knew what I wanted and how to get it. I couldn’t be stopped.

The goals I had set me apart from the rest, and the fact that whatever I set my mind to, I excelled at. The proof is on paper. I had aspirations too big for a normal small town girl as cliche as that one sounds. The difference was, i did it.

I put my money where my mouth was. In middle school, I said one day I’ll be a music journalist for Alternative Press. I’ll get to hang out with bands, go to shows, interview all the famous musicians and do what I love. 

And I did. Early 2016, I walked through the doors of AltPress Media for the first time. I left the small town, moved to the big city and graced the streets of Cleveland all by my lonesome at a mere 23 years old. 

But love changes you.

What was once the career-driven, intelligent, logical, ambitious young college girl turned into something she’d never thought twice of becoming:

Domesticated.

I chose to walk away from my dream in the name of love. 

In the name of marriage.

Family.

Children of my own. 

At one time, the thought would have made me gag. I didn’t want kids, I didn’t have a single maternal bone in my body. I wanted the fast life. The exciting life. The shit you see in movies. 

Until him.

I guess that’s probably why the state of our marriage currently is twice as insulting, but this piece isn’t about him. It’s about me.

Being a career woman in any industry is unforgiving. We don’t get to have our cake and eat it too. The fact of the matter was I had to choose, and men don’t. 

If we want to become wives and start families of our own, it’s nearly impossible to continue or advance in our career paths - we have to put it on hold. Not just for the pregnancy or the births or postpartum, but much longer. In my case, a lot longer because I couldn’t have my dream where I chose to plant my family’s roots and there is no way in hell I’m raising my kids in the big city. 

Women are expected to work as if they don’t have kids and raise their kids as if they don’t work - and that is just the god damn reality of it.

Whether they admit it or not, employers, managers, even fellow coworkers who also have kids will look down upon you for having to sacrifice time or performance at work because you have kids.

You have to leave early to pick up your kid from daycare? Not dedicated.

Have to call in because baby has a fever? Unreliable.

Need this day off because the kids have doctor’s appointments? Creating scheduling issues, selfish for needing any sort of accommodation, a burden.

Ever notice that it’s always mom having to make work arrangements for the kids? When’s the last time you heard of dad calling in to stay home with the sick child?

We’ve come a long way with gender equality, but some roles will forever be the same. I’m not saying that’s a problem - it’s part of our biology, our DNA. Women are natural primary caregivers, it’s just the way it is.

At any rate, since giving up my dream I’ve just had “jobs.” I’ve put any serious career plans on hold because I got babies to raise, and I know I’m not going to get anywhere. To be honest, since I can’t do shit with the music industry up here, I’m not even sure what I want to do permanently anymore. 

It was during a conversation I had with my husband when I realized by losing that part of me, I have lost most of my identity. The girl who was once so career-driven and goal-oriented had neither of those things anymore. I have no career or goals. I’m just lost. Stuck. It was so much of who I was, and now what am I?

A mom.

A basic ass suburban mom. It’s comical, really. I use to be unique, edgy, slightly intimidating maybe, interesting, and now I am the complete opposite. I’m...boring. Normal. Bland. Basic. I am no longer defined by my major, my goals, my university, my career path or big names I’ve worked with. I’m defined by my kids and my soldier husband. 

It made me realize that my husband fell in love with this 18 year old spitfire with big dreams and unmatched motivation to grab the world by the balls, and now who does he see when he walks through that door? A nearly 27 year old pregnant mom with a toddler on her leg who works from home along with photo shoots on weekends because she doesn’t really know what else to do until the kids are old enough to be in school and she can try to focus on a long-term career path that’s plausible in their new small town she chose to raise her kids in. Hot.

So much of my life has revolved around my future, career and performance. My success has always been measurable in some way. For the first time, it’s kind of not, and I don’t know how to look at myself anymore. I worry that my husband doesn’t either. Maybe this is why we are having problems -  because I don’t excite him anymore. He doesn’t love this version of me. Do I love this version of me?

Having kids really does change you in so many ways, we know this.

I’m just still not sure who I changed into.