The Last Time She Felt Like Herself

Every Mother’s Day, I find myself reflecting on something we do not talk about enough: what motherhood asks of a woman.

First, I am still amazed by what the female body can do. Truly amazed. The ability to grow, carry, protect, deliver, and then somehow continue giving after you feel like there is nothing left to give feels almost supernatural. There are days I look at mothers, myself included, and think, How are we doing this?

Before I became a mother, one of my biggest fears was not childbirth. It was not sleepless nights. It was not diapers or feedings.

It was losing myself.

As a woman deeply connected to fashion, creativity, style, ambition, and identity, that fear felt very real. I loved who I was before motherhood. I loved getting dressed. I loved creating. I loved planning fashion events. I loved building community, maintaining friendships, and dreaming about the life I wanted for myself.

And if I am honest, I had watched enough women around me become mothers and slowly disappear into the role. Their dreams became quieter. Their needs came last. Their identities became secondary.

I promised myself that would not happen to me.

But motherhood has a way of humbling every promise you make to yourself.

Because one of the hardest parts of becoming a mother is not the sleepless nights or the physical recovery.

It is sacrifice.

It is the quiet realization that your life is no longer fully about you.

And if I am being honest, there were moments where I thought, Will it ever be about me again?

Part of that fear came from my own mother.

Growing up, my mother felt larger than life.

To me, she was Superwoman.

She was a mother, but she was never only a mother. She moved through rooms with confidence. She handled business. She showed up for people. She built relationships. She made things happen. And somehow, in my eyes, she still managed to be fully present for me.

I was constantly with her.

At events.
In meetings.
In rooms I probably was too young to fully understand.

And for a long time, I thought she brought me because she wanted me to see what success looked like. I thought she wanted me to watch her move through the world as a woman of power.

And maybe part of that was true.

But becoming a mother myself has made me realize something deeper.

Sometimes I was there because there was no sitter.

Sometimes I was there because life did not pause just because she had a child.

Sometimes I was there because she still had to show up, still had to build, still had to provide, and motherhood did not remove any of those responsibilities.

As a child, I saw power.

As a mother, I now see sacrifice.

And maybe that is why I walked into motherhood believing I could do it all too.

And the fact that she had to do it is a hard thought to sit with.

But I want to be clear about something: I do not believe there is anything wrong with women who choose to be fully present in motherhood. There is nothing wrong with being a stay-at-home mom. There is nothing wrong with choosing your children, your home, or your family as your primary focus.

I actually admire it.

But if I am being honest with myself, I know that path would scare me.

Not because there is anything wrong with it.

But because I know myself.

And I know there is a part of me that needs to create.
A part of me that needs to build.
A part of me that needs to lead.
A part of me that needs to dream beyond the walls of my home.

And I think what scared me most about motherhood was the fear that if I stopped feeding that part of myself, I might lose her completely.

As women, we are often taught to serve. To nurture. To show up. To pour into everyone around us. To make space for other people, often before we make space for ourselves.

There is beauty in that.

But there is also grief.

Because somewhere in all that giving, you start fighting for tiny pieces of independence that once came naturally.

For me, that looked like fashion.

Planning events.
Creating.
Writing.
Building The Overdressed Black Girl.

There was a season where I genuinely thought that version of me was gone. I thought maybe motherhood had taken that part of me.

And if you follow me online, you may see the content. You may see the fashion. You may see the work. You may see the ambition.

What you will rarely see is my son.

And that is intentional.

Not because I am hiding motherhood. Not because I am ashamed of that role.

But because that part of my life is the part I protect the most.

I fiercely protect my son.
I fiercely protect my family.
I fiercely protect the life I have built behind the scenes.

Because being a mother has taught me what it means to protect.

And being a wife has taught me what it means to give.

So in many ways, it is a double-edged sword.

I spend so much of my life pouring into the people I love that I have become deeply intentional about protecting the parts of my life that feel sacred.

Not everything deserves access.

Not everyone deserves intimacy.

And some of the most meaningful parts of my life were never meant to become content.

After having my son, I struggled in ways I was not prepared for. What I now understand was postpartum depression left me feeling disconnected from myself for years.

I was functioning.
I was smiling.
I was posting.
I was showing up.

But internally, I was struggling.

If I am honest, it took me nearly seven years to feel like I found myself again.

Seven years.

That is the part of motherhood we rarely talk about.

The grief.
The identity shifts.
The guilt.
The exhaustion.
The moments where you question if you are doing enough.
The moments where you wonder if everyone else needs more of you than you have left to give.

Because sometimes, if I am being honest, the last time a woman truly felt like herself... was before she became a mother.

And maybe that is why Mother’s Day always feels so layered for me.

Not because I do not love being a mother.

I do.

Being my son’s mother has been one of the greatest honors of my life.

It has stretched me, softened me, humbled me, and transformed me in ways nothing else ever could.

But loving motherhood and being honest about how hard it is can exist in the same breath.

I can love my son with everything in me and still acknowledge the parts of motherhood that broke me, reshaped me, and forced me to find myself again.

So every Mother’s Day, I celebrate.

But I also reflect.

On the woman I was.
On the woman I became.
And on the woman I am still becoming.

Because motherhood did not take everything from me.

If anything, it forced me to fight for the parts of myself worth keeping.