The first big piece of my identity? Cheerleading. I was the quintessential cheerleader growing up and even into college. My life revolved around it—I chose my college based on the cheerleading team I wanted to join, and my major was a distant second. Cheerleading was more than a hobby; it was my everything. When that chapter of my life ended, I found myself in an identity crisis. I didn’t know who I was without cheerleading.
Next, I poured myself into my career. I worked relentlessly to land internships, graduated, and scored my dream job. I was the modern career woman, and it became my new identity. I thrived in that space, rising through the ranks quickly and finding validation in my professional success.
Then came marriage, motherhood, and a shift in priorities. When my first child was born, I made the choice to leave my demanding career for a part-time job that allowed me to focus on my family. Once again, I found myself in an identity crisis, this time trying to figure out what it meant to be "just a mom." With a two-year-old and an infant at home, my world was turned upside down by postpartum anxiety the first time around and postpartum depression the second. I felt lost, like I wasn’t myself anymore.
But amidst the struggle, I discovered a new purpose: making magic out of every aspect of my children's lives. I realized that I am the architect of their childhood memories, the one who crafts the moments they will look back on with fondness.
Now, I'm determined to infuse magic into our everyday life. We started by transforming our home. We cleared out clutter, donated excess toys, and turned our space into a cozy haven. My toddler requested an all-pink room with glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, and we made it happen. She loves it because she had a say in creating it. I’m putting thought and care into every corner of our home, from snack drawers to under-the-table forts—anything that sparks joy and wonder.
I've also started making ordinary moments extraordinary. Dinner isn’t just a meal; it's an event. We eat by candlelight, on special (ish) plates, as a family. Celebrations have taken on a new level of importance. Birthdays and holidays are now marked by thoughtful, curated surprises—nothing extravagant, just things I would have bought anyway, like new shoes or a backpack, presented in a way that makes the day feel special. I even curate library books to match the holiday and set them out as part of the surprise.
I’m building a family celebration box filled with reusable items to mark these occasions—ribbons to hang over bedroom doors on birthdays, candles for everything from pancakes to cupcakes. It’s all about making each day feel like a reason to celebrate.
Another project has been incorporating family photos into our home in unique ways. Instead of the usual shrine-like gallery walls, I’ve started placing small, framed photos in corners and nooks—little glimpses into our lives and the lives of our extended family. I’ve included black-and-white photos of grandmothers, which my daughter loves to ask about. These photos are a way to honor their legacies and keep their stories alive. Even though my grandma is no longer with us, her presence is felt in our home through these memories.
My new identity isn’t just about being a mom. It’s about being the best at this job—the most important one I’ve ever had. This new purpose has given me a sense of fulfillment that I never imagined. Being "just a mom" is no small thing—it's a mission, a passion, and a legacy in the making.