Maybe it’s not always trying to fix something broken. Maybe it’s about starting over and creating something better.

It’s amazing the paths we get taken on. I would never have imagined 2 years ago that I would be living this life. In my parallel universe, I would be attempting to climb my way up the corporate ladder, accumulating wealth and travel, but instead, I’ve been taken on a rollercoaster of loss, pregnancy and now, motherhood.

I no longer have my career and routine to bury myself in. I no longer have social interactions on a daily basis. Nothing around me is familiar anymore. My home has morphed into a baby warehouse. My clothes are now cheap, loose garments, as my previous wardrobe is stashed away in hope that one day they’ll ‘fit’ again. My body is unrecognisable. Overnight I’ve warped from a colleague, a friend, a healthy body, as someone’s ‘child’, now into a mum… and I am so lonely. I don’t recognise myself. I don’t know who I am. I’m sure this is referred to as an identity crisis.

As friends continue to live their busy child-free lives, my groundhog day begins anew each morning. None of my friends yet have children, or the ones that do live far away, so I’ve become a bit of an island. Besides the parentals and random pop-in visitors, Facebook and text messages become some of my only lines to human existence. It’s not a matter of being absorbed in other’s everyday lives. The truth is, we read to know we’re not alone.

A nurse that visited gave me a flyer to attend the local health clinic mother’s group. Well, I’ve really got nothing else to do. It’s what you’re supposed to do, you know, join a mother’s group. I’ve heard the stories of life long friendship. Little One needs the socialisation anyway. It’ll be like puppy-school for humans. This will be good for us. Each Thursday morning, at Little One’s most unsettled time of the day, I’d drag myself to the clinic to sit and meet with other mothers. We’re all strangers discovering this new life with child. Everyone is nice-enough, but week after week I can’t shake the feeling that I just don’t belong. I’m frustrated after each gathering as to why I can’t shake this cloud that follows me. As little as 2 years ago, I could walk into any room full of strangers with ease. I’ve always grown up amongst crowds, yet now I feel so out of my depth. How can I meet new people when I don’t even know who I am anymore? How can I get to know others when I’ve cased myself behind an iron wall? How can I make new friends when I miss the ones I already have? Regardless of how I feel, each week I continue to show up rain, hail or shine. To me, mother’s group is like the pair of old jeans that I just cannot throw out. They’re uncomfortable, unflattering, with bulging muffin tops, yet each week I try them on again in hope that maybe they’ll fit this time.

At one of our group gatherings, the nurse has us partake in a little activity to share how we felt during the lead up to motherhood. I end up an embarrassed, blubbering mess of a person, in front of a room of my new acquaintances. I realise it’s really the first time I’ve spoken about it. I realise how much of a stranger I am to myself. I realise how broken I still am.

That night, I tell husband that ‘the jeans’ are officially being thrown out. I won’t do this to myself anymore. But instead of throwing them out, I fold them and place them neatly on my shelf… and the same time, week after week, pull them out and try them again.

Please God, fix me.

“… and I still believe You’re the same yesterday, today and forever.”

Old Jeans