Jodie Christine Hardcastle

I wasn’t prepared for how wide the gap could feel between the mum I thought I’d be and the mum I’ve found myself being.

That’s what I’m grieving most. Not the lack of sleep, overstimulation or constant noise…Me.

I’ve wanted to be a mum for as long as I can remember. Not because it was just what’s next, but because I believed it was my calling. I still do under all the noise, which just makes it all harder to admit.

When you’ve spent your whole life believing you’re made for something, struggling with it feels less like exhaustion and more like losing your moral compass. On repeat. Over & over again.

Groundhog Day. Just with some days being harder than others.

I’m ashamed this season’s challenged me more than anything I’ve ever experienced.

More than packing up my life, moving 100 miles away, rebuilding from scratch with only as much stuff as my Corsa boot would carry.

More than the mental health struggles I thought would be the end of me.

Not because motherhood is harder than those things; because motherhood has exposed parts of me I didn’t know were still there…

The perfectionist who believes nothing’s ever enough.

The people pleaser who’s worth is determined by what she gives, even when she has nothing left.

The little girl who still believes asking for help means she’s failed.

I thought motherhood would make me feel more like me. That it would soften me, build on the hard work I’d already done to leave that old version behind.

Instead, I’ve felt further away from myself than ever before but now I carry the identity of “Mum” and all the pressure that comes with it.

I wasn’t prepared for grieving the mum I thought I’d be in this chapter. It’s been one of the hardest things to come to terms with.

Because you can love your children fiercely and still grieve the version you thought they’d get.

I’m understanding now that some seasons aren’t about thriving. They’re about surviving, keeping everybody fed, loved, safe and that’s enough.

But if I’m honest…I’m still grieving the fact surviving’s all I have the capacity for right now.

Maybe healing isn’t having it all together. Maybe it’s telling the truth about where I am in this chapter of my life.

Nobody prepared me for the shame that comes with finally getting everything I ever wanted… and then struggling to hold it.

I’ve spent the past year battling the guilt of struggling with a life I once would’ve given anything to have.

This 15 seconds shows sea air, sandy toes and me spending quality time with my little girl.

The same little girl who hangs on my every word, watches my every move and absorbs every detail.

What it doesn’t show?

The reality I’ve been living day to day.

No romantic silver linings.

No embellishments.

Just survival.

No mention of my youngest.

No mention that this is one child, one moment and only half the story.

No mention that I’m currently in the early stages of a postnatal depression diagnosis.

There. I said it.

And I hate labels.

But there NEEDS to be more honesty around how impossible having 2 under 2 can be.

Because I’m not talking about the “hard but worth it” version.

I’m talking about the version where somebody needs something from you every second of every day.

For comfort.

For reassurance.

For security.

For safety.

Where you wake up hanging on by a thread with nothing left to give, yet somehow do it all again tomorrow.

Where one’s crying because they’re hungry, one’s crying because you’ve put the wrong shoes on and every hot drink ends up cold.

Where getting dressed feels like climbing Everest.

Where one needs you most and no matter who you choose, you feel guilty about the other.

The version where you love your children so much it physically hurts, but still find yourself wondering why nobody told you keeping your head above water could feel this relentless.

Nobody prepared me for finally getting everything I ever wanted…

And still feeling like I was failing at it.

She didn’t realise it at first.

Not initially, when it was all new and chaotic and sleep was a luxury. She assumed she was tired? But that normal kind of tired everyone warns about with a baby.

Except it didn’t leave…it doubled. The bags under her eyes got heavier, deeper, more established.

It followed her through the feeds, endless cycles of soothing and rocking.

It settled into her bones in a way she couldn’t explain to anyone without feeling like she was just complaining, being ungrateful or making a fuss.

Because all they say is… “It gets easier.”

So she smiles that “I know” smile she’s rehearsed.

Postpartum burnout isn’t loud and violent. It’s not always a breakdown. A lot of the time, it creeps up on you, quietly.

It’s the mental load that just keeps on going. A foundation built on overwhelming guilt. The relentless overstimulation and the smallest sound making your skin crawl. The confusing grief of missing who you used to be, whilst nurturing who you’re becoming.

She didn’t know any of it and somewhere amongst all that, she starts to disappear. She slowly fades into the background noise of everyone else’s needs.

All whilst she watches the polished versions of motherhood spill out on social media.

The spotless homes. The regulated households. The calm babies. The women who seem to be doing it all effortlessly…

So she assumes she’s the problem.

That she should be coping better.
That she should be grateful enough to not feel this way.
That she’s somehow falling short.

But the truth is, modern motherhood demands more than it ever has before. It’s a load that’s now carried by modern day mums that should never have been ours in the first place.

So despite drowning in overwhelm, we carry it all. Then we take a deep breath and say “I’m fine” just like society expects.

Running on empty, showing up anyway, giving everyone else the few pieces of you that are left.

This is why honesty matters more than anything else.

Because once one woman shares the impact that this culture has in true reality, another finally realises that she’s not alone in it.

And sometimes, that vulnerable honestly is

Watching the man I fell in love with, who once doubted he’d ever be a good father, face his demons head on so now he can build the most magical daddy - daughter bond with our oldest baby that will always be one of the purest joys of my motherhood🤍👧🏽

❤️

Watching my precious little beans love each other so purely heals parts of me I didn’t even know needed healing.

From the very beginning, before either of them can remember any different….they have each other. The way Avie smiles at her big sister every time she sees her, will genuinely never stop lighting up my life. In the same way that Lilli’s spontaneous cuddles and kisses for her sister will only ever become more wholesome.

A built-in best friend, a lifelong safe place, a love that started before they’ll even remember.

The bond between my sister and me with a 3 year gap is pretty special but I think these two just might top it 🥹

It’s fleeting moments like this, in the middle of chaos, amongst constant overwhelm, sleepless nights, and the amazing turmoil of motherhood… and then motherhood again😅 this makes it all feel so worth it ✨

My heart, outside my body, times two.

*Disclaimer*
Usually interactions consist of Lilli throwing things at her little sister, taking stuff off her, sitting on her or crying because she can’t smash her sister in the face with her toys👌

I’ve been non existent on here for a long time now - if I’m honest, it’s because I just haven’t been proud of who I am lately.

Postpartum’s hit me in a way that I truly never expected.

With two beautiful baby girls (15 & 2 months), I thought this would be the most beautiful time of my life? But instead, I’ve felt completely & utterly lost…

Like I don’t know who I am anymore.

Like I’m just going through the motions… not wanting to show up, not wanting to share, not wanting to take part in things I used to love, forming bad habits.

I’ve watched other mums soaking in motherhood, loving every moment…whilst I’ve felt like I’m drowning.

Some days have felt never-ending.

Some days I’ve genuinely believed I’m failing and I feel sad the girls have me as their mum. It’s been deep.

And the hardest part?

I’ve had nothing to compare it to… because I haven’t been finding joy in anything I used to do. Even getting out of the house has been, and still is a HUGE challenge that seems impossible.

My anxiety has been through the roof.

This period has humbled me more than any other time in my life… even my lowest points before this.

And then there’s the guilt.

Because how can any mother feel like this when you’ve got two beautiful babies?

But this last few days, something’s started to shift…

Not all at once. Not perfectly. But things feel… lighter.

For the first time in months, I feel like I can see a starting point again. And that might sound small, but right now it’s everything.

I went back to the gym… I cooked/baked…

What changed?

I stopped believing there was something “wrong” with me.

I FINALLY realised that THIS is normal, nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide from.

And in that moment, things started to make sense.

I could see how I’d stopped trusting the path laid out for me and started letting my insecurities and negative inner voice take over.

But here’s what I’m coming back to:

You really are always where you need to be.
Even in the mess. Even in the heaviness. Even when it feels unbearable.

This season isn’t here to break you -it’s here to take you somewhere new

And for the first time in a LONG time, I’m starting to trust that again 🤍