mental-health

3 Days Before Surgery

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Packing for Dallas at Midnight: A Moment of Clarity in the Chaos

It’s midnight, and I’m still packing for Dallas. I started around 9 PM, and I’ve managed to get one suitcase packed—though even that feels incomplete.

I can’t help but wonder: why am I moving so slowly? Why can’t I focus on this simple task?

The answer seems to lie in the clash between my racing thoughts and my sluggish body. The louder my brain gets, the slower my hands move. It’s as though the more anxious I feel, the less capable I am of doing anything at all. I glance at the baby monitor. There she is—my sweet girl, sound asleep in her crib, as peaceful as she can be. It’s a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in my mind.

Intrusive thoughts keep flooding in. I wish there were a mute button for my brain, just something to stop the noise for a few minutes so I can breathe.

What makes it worse, though, is when people ask me how I’m doing. How do you answer when you feel like you’re barely keeping it together? I’m not eating much. I’m staying up late because my brain is too loud to sleep. When I do sleep, it’s fitful and haunted by nightmares that leave me waking up in a sweaty panic. I’m terrified of the future, of what’s to come. I can’t think straight, I can’t focus, and the simplest tasks feel impossible—like packing a bag.

Packing, in particular, feels like a painful reminder that this isn’t just some nightmare. This is real. It’s been real ever since our daughter’s diagnosis, the day we saw the pediatric orthopedic surgeon for the first time. But I’ve been able to push it to the back of my mind, to pretend for a while that it isn’t happening. It’s easier that way. I’ve been dissociating, going through the motions of day-to-day life, trying to enjoy the small moments. We took her to the zoo for the first time, and I allowed myself to believe everything was okay, if only for a few hours.

But now, with every item I fold and tuck into the suitcase, it hits me all over again. This is happening. And I don’t know how to make sense of it all.

I guess, for now, I’ll go finish packing. But I don’t think I’ll be able to ignore it much longer.

Who is Meighan? She’s just Momma now.

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The Lost Identity of Motherhood—and the Journey to Find Myself Again

I used to wonder what happened to moms after they had children. Where did they go? It was almost symbolic: they seemed to slowly disappear from their own photos, replaced by baby pictures, and for some reason, that used to straight piss me off. I’d find myself wondering: How could someone get so completely lost in motherhood?

Now, I get it. I really do.

There is a loss of identity when you become a mom. At least, that’s been my experience. You become consumed by things you never thought you’d care so much about—milk intake, nap timings, diaper changes, meal plans, teething remedies. The list goes on and on. And somewhere along the way, you forget yourself a bit. You forget how to talk about anything other than the endless cycle of mothering. The things that used to bring you joy—your hobbies, your passions, your interests—fall to the wayside. Slowly, your world becomes smaller, and your conversation more limited. Let’s be honest, it can get a little… dull.

But then, you find other moms. Women who, before motherhood, you might not have connected with. But now, you’re all in the same boat—rattling around in this lost property box together. And in some way, it’s comforting. You’re not alone in this strange, beautiful chaos.

I know deep down that I’ve gone AWOL since becoming a mom. I’ve almost forgotten that there’s a world out there, separate from motherhood, that I can still be a part of.

So, I’m slowly reclaiming my “me-ness” again. It’s a work in progress, but it’s happening. And when I do, I notice something beautiful: Ady enjoys it more, too. It feels more authentic. Now, instead of just playing “Ms. Moni” on repeat, we have little dance parties to the music I love. I’ve even started taking the time to look half-human again in the mornings—putting my old face back on. These small changes, as trivial as they may seem, are helping me reconnect with myself, and I’m pretty sure they’re good for all of us.

Motherhood is a balancing act. You’re helping this tiny human develop their identity, but it’s just as important not to forget your own. It’s okay to be both: a mom and a person, with interests, dreams, and a self that existed long before motherhood.

And every little step I take to reclaim that feels like a victory. Here’s to becoming Meighan again, instead of just Momma.