THE BEAUTIFUL WEIGHT OF BEING HER HOME.

05.11.25

As I lay here breastfeeding my almost 3-month-old daughter, I’ve become aware of the constant presence I’ve been feeling rooted in being a new mother. I don’t get the space to worry about the future, I don’t have the time to worry about the past, I am constantly anchored in the present moment making sure that I am everything I need for her at any given moment. I am always aware, always attuned, always noticing the small shifts in her breath or her face or the sounds she makes. It’s a presence that is total.

My body is her source of food, comfort and regulation. I am switched on every second to make sure I’m aware of her every cue to make sure I meet that need. 

This type of experience of being present in the moment is something that I have always strived for. As someone who has once lived in anxiety, fretting about the future, and experienced depression and weighed down by the past, I am now vigilantly stamped in the present. It’s not the peaceful, detached meditative presence I once imagined. It’s a presence that carries responsibility. It’s a presence that is required, continuous, unbroken.

And as beautiful watching every moment of my daughter’s development and exploration of the world is, there is imbalance in it too. The closeness is sacred, I’ve never felt so engulfed by my love for someone else - yet I can feel how easy it is to lose myself inside it. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a resentful way. Just in the quiet reality that I don’t get to step out of being Mum. I don’t get to switch off. I don’t get to be thoughtless. My body and my awareness are always available to her.

This is something I’ve read many new mums face, the identity and responsibility shift into being someone else’s entire world is exhausting. It isn’t something I resent, but noticing how easy it is to feel a loss in your own sense of self when you are the sole source of everything to your baby is a huge responsibility. 

So as I lay here whilst she drifts off to sleep whilst curled against my chest, I’m thinking of my partner who doesn’t have to have this level of attentiveness, and the unfairness I feel. There’s no resentment in the acknowledgment, just a feeling of realisation that right now this is just the way that it is. He cares for us deeply, and I know that. But he doesn’t have to be present in the same way. He doesn’t have to stay “on.” He gets to drift in and out. And naming that difference feels important. There is no bitterness in this observation, just honesty and awareness. 

There’ll probably be a time when I look back at these moments and cherish how attuned I am with her, but right now the heaviness of that responsibility feels like a lot. There’s so much intentionality into mothering that is so beautiful, and now I’ve realised what fully feeling present means - even if it is for someone else. Hyper-attunement is exhausting and not something I think I can switch off - as right now I can no longer get to exist without purpose.

Every movement, every breath, every moment of consciousness is for someone else.

And so I’ve been holding onto one small ritual - getting myself ready in the morning, even if it’s only for a few minutes before she demands to be fed. It would be so easy to fall into the habit of throwing my hair back and staying in my pyjamas until I found another pocket of time to get dressed. I’ve never been one for wearing makeup everyday, however I’ve been glueing my eyebrows in place and doing a light makeup routine (and if I get the time - styling my hair) not to impress anyone. Not even to look “good”, but to remind myself that I still exist as me. So even when milk stains and dribble mark their way through the day, my face still feels like mine.

If this is the only moment I get to myself in the day then at least I have a small part of me left and I’m okay with that. A tether to self identity that is just mine. 

I know this season will shift. One day she won’t need me in quite the same way, and I’ll have more room to stretch back into myself. But right now, this is where I am: present, needed, poured into someone else. I need to remember to pour some energy back into myself so that I can be the best version of myself for her, and I accept that those moments are small and may not able to strictly plan them into my day like I once did before I was a mum. There is beauty here, and there is weight, and both can exist without cancelling the other out. For now, I’ll keep holding her, and I’ll keep trying to hold onto myself too - even if just by the small ritual of doing my eyebrows in the morning. 

Motherhood, work, life - whatever your day holds - ask yourself: what small ways can you pour energy back into yourself today, even if just for a few moments. How can you hold yourself gently, alongside all that you give to others?