She Was a Lovely, Wandering Girl

On becoming a mother, and missing who you once were

The Part No One Can Explain

I saw a picture of a new mom today, and it immediately took me back to the emotional rollercoaster of having your first child.

The excitement.
The fear.
The complete unknown.

Being pregnant for the first time is a deeply foreign experience. People can tell you what might happen physically — morning sickness, weight gain, exhaustion, cravings. They can warn you, reassure you, compare notes.

But nothing prepares you for what it feels like emotionally.

A Life That Was Already Full

I became pregnant for the first time during my partner's and my sabbatical from corporate America and the life we once knew.

We were traveling the world in our early to mid-thirties, teaching English, practicing our art, and immersing ourselves in local culture wherever we landed. We lived far under our means, out of backpacks, meeting people who were fully alive in the present moment.

It felt like a movie.

We weren’t planning for the future or longing for the past. We were stretching ourselves — our minds, our identities, our understanding of the world.

Jarrod, my partner, likes to say that living abroad, or living a vagabond life, sets your mind on fire. He’s right.

Finding Yourself Before Losing Yourself

During that time, I found myself.

I wrote in journals constantly. I read endlessly, searching for language that could hold what I was learning about myself. Much of it was philosophy. I listened to podcast after podcast about the mind. I explored local religions — mostly Buddhism in Thailand and Vietnam. I learned how to sit with myself. To observe. To be curious instead of reactive.

And then, as life tends to do, everything changed.

I became pregnant while we were living in Vietnam.

Looking back, I’m deeply grateful for those years of reflection abroad. I believe they shaped the mother I am today. They helped me work through parts of myself before I had to hold space for someone else.

But they also set me up for quite the shock.

The Sudden Shift

I went from a carefree, bohemian artist wandering the world
to a brand-new mother back in America — almost overnight.

When Esme was about three months old, I had just begun to adjust to the relentlessness of caring for a baby. All day. All night. Every sound mattered. Every need was urgent.

You go from waking up and deciding whether you want to get out of bed…
to being needed immediately, always.

At first, it’s survival mode.
And then, when survival softens just a little, something else arrives.

Mourning Who You Were

Grief.

A quiet mourning for the life you once had.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt that ache so sharply. I’m three children in now. Caring for small humans is the world I live in — and I love it deeply.

And still… I miss her sometimes.

Vagabond Hanna.

Holding All the Versions

I think of her often. I get flashes of the life I once lived, and they always bring a smile to my face. She was a lovely, lost, curious young woman. She struggled in beautiful ways. She wandered. She questioned. She survived.

I’m proud of her.

No Lesson, Just Permission

I don’t have a grand insight to wrap this up neatly. This isn’t a lesson or a takeaway. It’s simply a reflection — and maybe a permission slip.

Permission to miss who you were.
Permission to love who you are becoming.
Permission to hold joy and grief in the same breath.

Nothing has gone wrong if you feel both.