By Ieva Zarina, Founder of LULA Nursing Wear
Let’s talk identity. Mine vanished somewhere between doing my best cleaning lady impression and breastfeeding for the eleventh time that day.
My job? Gone.
My hobbies? Who has time?
My social life? LOL.
I had a baby and forgot who I was. Completely.
The Moment Everything Stopped
The shift started the second my baby was born. It was like someone slammed a big red STOP button on everything that used to make up my life. Suddenly, I was just home.
Breastfeeding all the time. Like, 12 to 15 times a day and night. Stuck to the same lounge chair, back aching, holding a tiny human who refused to sleep anywhere but on me.
I was physically and emotionally glued to him. And for someone like me—who thrived on creativity, independence, and professional momentum—it felt like my entire self had been stripped away.
I quickly learned that comfortable breastfeeding clothing was a must—those days were long, and my usual wardrobe felt impossible. The practicality of a good nursing top became my lifeline.
My World, Shrunk
Before baby, my days were full. I worked long hours, led creative projects, traveled, hit the gym, explored art galleries, and enjoyed late-night dinners with my husband. Then bam—silence. Isolation.
My world shrunk to a nursing chair, a baby blanket, and four walls.
I didn’t hate my baby. I loved him deeply. But I started asking: Where did I go?
Who am I now?
Am I still a person?
Or just this 24/7 milk machine?
I knew this work was important—raising a human is a big deal. But in the moment, pacing in spit-up-stained pajamas at 3 AM whispering “please just sleep,” it didn’t feel important. It felt invisible.
“Enjoy It While It Lasts”
People love to say, “Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Cool. Except I was doing 14 loads of laundry and Googling, “Can a baby survive on zero naps?”
Also, let’s retire “sleep when the baby sleeps.” Oh, you mean when I’m supposed to clean, eat, shower, stare into the void, and finally cry in peace?
The Loneliness
You think maternity leave will be like a mini vacation where you finally catch up with friends. Except… they’re working. They’re busy. And bedtime routines take over your evenings.
Suddenly, you’re alone.
Worse, you’re wondering where you went.
I used to be interesting. I think? I had thoughts about art, politics, music, film. Now my brain was foggy from sleep deprivation, and the only thing I felt qualified to talk about was baby sleep (or the lack of it). And I hated that. I hated feeling boring. Like a shell.
Motherhood Fucks with Your Head
People say motherhood adds to your identity. Maybe.
But first? It devours it.
I put all my energy into being a good mom, into surviving. And somewhere in that survival, I lost sight of the version of me I once was.
Even when I wanted to feel human again, my old ways of expressing identity—fashion, conversation, creativity—felt foreign. My body changed, but so did my social instincts.
It’s hard to reclaim yourself when you’ve been seeing yourself only through the lens of someone else’s needs for so long.
“I Know I’m Me... But I Can’t Move To Be Me”
I once told my husband, “I feel like a person in a wheelchair. I know I’m still me, but I can’t move to be me.”
Harsh? Maybe. But it was the only way I could describe the emotional suspension I felt. It wasn’t just about missing things like work or gym classes. It was deeper. I was mourning myself—not the lifestyle, but the identity.
Breastfeeding: Love and Hate
Honestly, breastfeeding made it worse.
Each session was 30 minutes. Multiply that by 12 a day, and you start to lose track of who you are outside of your baby’s next meal.
I was so touched out, so emotionally depleted, I didn’t feel human anymore.
Meanwhile, my husband’s life kept moving—his work, his routine, his purpose. And I felt paused. Small. Like my world was static while his spun forward.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be there for my baby. I just didn’t want to disappear doing it.
And yes, investing in functional nursing wear like stretchy, easy-to-access nursing tops made those long sessions slightly more bearable.
Stay-at-Home Mom vs Working Mom
The guilt creeps in with snacks.
Because if you don’t love every moment, are you a bad mom?
I was trapped between two ideals:
Be the nurturing, ever-present mom.
Be the financially independent, fulfilled woman.
I wanted both. I still want both. But let’s be real: There are only 24 hours in a day. If your kid takes most of it, and work takes the rest—what’s left for you?
A New Kind of Return
I grieved me. But slowly—so slowly—something shifted.
I noticed my husband missed me too—the vibrant, ambitious woman buried under diapers and exhaustion.
My kids are now 3 and 1. Last week, my husband and I took our first no-kids vacation.
Guess who showed up?
My wild, fun, chill self.
She went traveling. She shopped. She laughed. She flirted. She breathed.
On a date-night walk after a theater show, it hit me: I was relaxed. Not “managing a meltdown in public” relaxed—genuinely at ease.
I didn’t stress about meals. I didn’t plan every second. I just was. And that version of me? Still alive. Still kicking. Still dancing somewhere under the spit-up and mental load.
It’s like being blindfolded in a familiar place… but everything has been moved around.
And slowly, light filters in.
I don’t have it all figured out.
But I did shower today. And I wrote this.