Sometimes You Don’t Need to Find Your Way Back

This photo was taken the day before I went to the doctor and was diagnosed with postnatal anxiety

Of course I knew I wouldn’t be the same after having a baby.

What I didn’t expect was how much I would change, or rather, how much would change after my second child. 

I naively thought these changes in ourselves came about at ‘moments’. For me, it crept up quietly. Small shifts that I dismissed until everything came tumbling down. It wasn’t at the birth, or when we settled into a routine that was utterly chaotic, it was closer to 1 year down the track.

For me, that tumble was a diagnosis. Or rather, my doctor gently suggested I might have postnatal anxiety.

You tell yourself it’s the lack of sleep. Of course you don’t feel like yourself. Of course everything feels harder and your mind won’t quieten. If only I could get more sleep, then I’d be fine.

I’ll try sleep training. That will fix it.

You pivot, you problem-solve, you tinker with routines. None of it solves the deeper noise in your head.

When my doctor pointed me towards postnatal anxiety, I was surprised by the shame I felt. Not shame at what others might think, but the judgment I was placing on myself.

I realised I was holding myself to standards I would never expect of anyone else.

If you’re a perfectionist, you will likely recognise this. That inner voice that says you should have handled it, fixed it, been stronger.

There’s also very little public conversation about the messy, uncertain journey of starting medication for anxiety or depression. Finding the right medication and dose can be slow, confusing and emotionally taxing and to be transparent, I am still finding my way.

Being honest about my experience with medication also opened up surprising conversations with people close to me. Many of them were taking medication too.

Had I been living in a privileged bubble? Had I simply not asked? Or was it that people don’t volunteer this part of themselves because of all the same reasons I was feeling?

Probably all of the above. 

What I’ve learned about myself

There are a few things I’m still learning and probably will be for a long time, but a few that I know to be true now. 

My identity doesn't need to come from a label.

Job titles. “Mum”. High achiever. All the things I had used to define myself and, embarrassingly, pride myself on. It wasn’t about being better than anyone else. It was a definition of ‘success’ that I had created for myself. A bar that was continuously just out of reach.

I’m learning that loving who I am doesn’t need any labels attached to it. 

Real self-care sometimes means stopping.

My psychiatrist prescribed 1–2 hours of relaxing time a day.

For me, that means sitting still. Usually reading a book. Honestly, I still find this hard.

I tried to trick myself by doing chores or productive “self-care” instead. Walking the dog because it’s a chore ticked off, for example, but it doesn’t count.

Take my word for it.

“Just suck it up” isn’t always the answer.

The old-school “just suck it up” mentality has a place in some realities and situations. Bills still need paying. Kids still need feeding. Life still needs doing.

But ignoring your internal alarm, or overriding what you know isn't right for you, isn't a helpful mantra for mental health.

Even when listening to yourself is scary. Even when it means making big changes.

Productivity should be judged by outcomes, not hours.

I’ve said this countless times to other people, but I was very late to applying it to myself.

I reply to emails in the kinder carpark. I work at cafes, in boardrooms, from home. I pack orders at strange hours. I work in the cracks between pick-ups, drop-offs and everything else and I’ve learned to love those imperfect rhythms.

Because I am a better version of myself for my kids when I’m not trying to fit my life into someone else’s definition of what productive hours should look like.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, The Muckee Co. appeared.

From the middle of that fog, something unexpected grew.

I taught myself to handmake colourful, practical kids' washcloths because nothing I found online was quite right for my kids' sensitive skin and nothing felt cool enough to be left hanging in my kitchen.

Two sewing machines and what felt like 20,000 trips to Spotlight later, I had made something real.

The Muckee Meals and the Muckee Bath washcloths! In building The Muckee Co., I found a version of myself I want to keep.

I discovered a creativity I didn’t know I had and flexing that muscle brought a quiet, steady joy.

I learned I don’t need my identity to be defined by work. Maybe it wasn’t Muckee that taught me this, but the process that afforded me the space to discover. 

I’m content with the messy combination of pick-ups, drop-offs, motherhood and the slow, sometimes clumsy work of building an e-commerce business with absolutely no prior experience.

In fact, I think it might be one of the best things that has happened to me.

I know this version of me isn't permanent either and that’s also fine.

This feels like a season for discovering who I am when I’m not defined by anyone or anything else.

A year ago, I wouldn’t have believed that I would have wanted this to be my life.

I also want to acknowledge the privilege I have to be able to make some of these choices. I know not everyone has the option to slow down, get well, change direction or build something new.

But the truth is, I might not be here today if I hadn’t.

I don’t have it all figured out.

I still have days where the old shame and the old expectations rear their heads (more often than i’d like to admit). I still catch myself measuring my worth by what I’ve achieved, how productive I’ve been or how well I think I’m coping.

But I’ve learned something crucial. 

Sometimes the version of yourself you’re desperately trying to get back to isn't the version you need.

Sometimes you need to discover who you are now.

And for me, this change has been the best thing that ever happened to me.

If this resonates with you, if you’re carrying the quiet panic, the shame, the impossible standards, you are not alone.

Ali xx