Yesterday at the farmers’ market, I watched a mother abandon her half-filled basket to chase after her toddler, then spend twenty minutes helping her older child pick the “perfect” apple while her coffee grew cold in the stroller’s cup holder. I saw myself five years ago, and something inside me ached.
We pour ourselves into our children like water into a vessel, forgetting that eventually, the vessel will be full and move on—leaving us wondering where all that water went. The truth nobody tells you when you’re knee-deep in motherhood? Those little sacrifices you make without thinking twice are actually teaching you to disappear, one forgotten dream at a time.
I spent seven years teaching kindergarten before having my daughter, and when she arrived, I couldn’t imagine returning to the classroom. Not because anyone asked me to stay home, but because somewhere along the way, I’d absorbed the message that good mothers rearrange everything. Now, five years and two kids later, I’m watching friends approach their sixties with a haunting question: “Who am I when I’m not someone’s mom?”
The pattern doesn’t start overnight. It begins with behaviors so normalized, so celebrated even, that we never think to question them.
1) Answering every single “Mom!” before they even finish the sentence
How many times today have you dropped what you were doing the second you heard that familiar call? I used to pride myself on being instantly available, like some sort of maternal superhero. Cooking dinner? Pause. Writing during naptime? Close the laptop. Attempting a phone call? Sorry, friend, gotta go.
But here’s what I’ve learned: when we train ourselves to be perpetually interruptible, we’re also training ourselves that our time, our thoughts, our work—they all come second. Always.
Last week, I let my five-year-old wait thirty seconds while I finished typing a sentence. The world didn’t end. She figured out how to open the playdough container herself. These tiny moments of patience are teaching her capability while reminding me that my work matters too.
2) Making separate meals because “the kids won’t eat that”
I know a mother who makes three different dinners every night. Three. She jokes about being a “short-order cook,” but there’s something hollow in her laugh.
When did we decide that children’s preferences trumped our own sanity? I fell into this trap hard during my perfectionist days, convinced that a good mother ensures everyone’s happiness at mealtime. The result? I was exhausted, resentful, and modeling that mom’s needs come last—even at her own table.
These days, I make one meal. One. Sometimes my toddler eats it, sometimes he doesn’t. But I’m teaching both kids that the family adapts together, not that mom adapts for everyone.
3) Scheduling your entire life around their activities
“Sorry, we can’t make it. Soccer practice.”
“Wish we could come, but there’s a birthday party.”
“Maybe next time—dance recital season.”
Sound familiar? Our calendars become shrines to our children’s schedules while our own interests gather dust. I started writing during my daughter’s nap times, building my portfolio slowly over five years.
But how many mothers never even get that far because Saturday mornings are for gymnastics, not pursuing that certification they’ve been considering?
There’s nothing wrong with supporting our kids’ interests. But when every weekend, every evening, every free moment revolves around their activities, we’re teaching them that adult lives should orbit around children. We’re also guaranteeing ourselves an identity crisis when they leave home.
4) Never buying anything for yourself unless it’s on sale (but full price is fine for the kids)
Walk into any mother’s closet and you’ll likely find clothes from a decade ago, worn shoes, and that one “nice” outfit for special occasions. Meanwhile, her kids have seasonal wardrobes, the latest sneakers, and heaven forbid they wear the same outfit to two birthday parties.
This isn’t about materialism. It’s about the message we internalize: our needs can wait, indefinitely. That workshop you’ve been eyeing? Too expensive. But the third sport camp this summer? Already registered.
I’m still working on this one, fighting the guilt that bubbles up when I invest in myself. But I’m learning that showing my kids a mother who values herself enough to occasionally choose the non-clearance rack teaches them about self-worth—theirs and mine.
5) Turning down opportunities because “it’s not a good time for the family”
After years of teaching, I had the chance to transition into educational consulting. The hours would’ve been different, requiring some evening work. I turned it down without discussing it with anyone because my toddler “needed me” in the evenings.
Nobody asked me to decline. My husband would’ve supported it. But somewhere in my maternal programming, I’d decided that any inconvenience to the family routine was automatically off-limits.
How many promotions, creative projects, and friendships have we sacrificed on the altar of “not now”? The truth is, there’s never a perfect time. Kids will always need something. If we wait for the ideal moment, we’ll be waiting forever.
6) Absorbing everyone’s emotions without processing your own
Your preschooler’s having a meltdown about the wrong color cup. Your partner’s stressed about work. The baby’s teething. By the end of the day, you’ve been everyone’s emotional support system, but when did anyone ask how you’re feeling?
We become so skilled at managing everyone else’s feelings that we forget we’re allowed to have our own. I spent years believing that keeping everyone emotionally regulated was my job, never realizing I was teaching my children that mom doesn’t have feelings worth considering.
Now, I’m intentionally transparent about my emotions (age-appropriately, of course). “Mommy’s feeling frustrated and needs a five-minute break.” Revolutionary? Shouldn’t be. But for many of us, it is.
7) Believing that putting yourself first occasionally makes you selfish
The guilt when you take an hour for yourself. The shame when you enjoy that hour. The mental gymnastics justifying why you “deserve” basic self-care. We’ve internalized the message that good mothers don’t need anything beyond their children’s happiness.
But here’s the thing: kids learn how to treat themselves by watching how we treat ourselves. When we model that adult needs matter—that parents are people with interests, dreams, and boundaries—we’re teaching them a healthier blueprint for their own future.
Breaking the pattern
I’m not suggesting we swing to the opposite extreme, ignoring our children’s needs or becoming unavailable. But there’s a vast middle ground between total self-sacrifice and selfishness that most of us have been trained not to see.
The mother at the farmers’ market? Maybe next time she’ll finish filling her basket first, teaching her toddler that waiting is okay. Maybe she’ll let her older child struggle with the apple choice alone, building decision-making skills.
As for me? I’m learning to embrace “good enough” instead of perfect, to stop comparing my journey to those Instagram-perfect families that probably don’t exist anyway. Some days I nail it. Other days, I find myself making two dinners and feeling that familiar resentment creep in.
But I’m trying. Because I don’t want to wake up at sixty wondering where I went. And more importantly, I don’t want my children growing up thinking that love means disappearing into someone else’s needs.
The revolution starts small. With a finished sentence despite the “Mom!” With one dinner instead of three. With choosing the non-sale item occasionally. With admitting that we matter, not just as mothers, but as whole, complex, deserving human beings.
Our children need to see us living full lives, not just facilitating theirs. Because someday, they’ll leave. And when they do, we deserve to have something left.
