Melody Tan: Losing—and Finding—Me
by Melody Tan | 19 March 2024 |
I braced myself as I heard the opening strains of the familiar song during church that day. A few seconds later, when the singers announced its title, my husband leaned towards me and whispered teasingly, “Uh oh.”
It was too late. Tears were already filling my eyes.
Christian band MercyMe’s 1999 song “I Can Only Imagine” holds a special place in my heart. A song contemplating what one would do in the presence of Jesus in heaven, it was released around the same time when I decided I wanted God in my life and about a year after my father passed away from cancer.
Tears welled up in my eyes when I first heard the words of the song. The idea of meeting Jesus in heaven, the thought I—and my family—would be reunited with my dad in heaven, and the notion that I would be enjoying eternity in heaven filled me with so much emotion then and continues to speak to the yearning I have in my heart some 20 years later.
That song, however, was probably one of the very few things that would bring a tear to my eyes back when I was 19. Back then, I prided myself for not being “sappy.” I saw myself as logical, practical, highly cynical, and “tough.” Where others cried, I would often be stoic. Of course, I can feel touched but even then, tears don’t normally come.
Then I became a mum. Something flipped in me the day I gave birth to my son. Sad story on the news? Tears. Novel with a touching storyline? Tears. Don’t even get me started on movies. Tears, tears, and more tears.
Any parent with a young child today is probably familiar with the Australian phenomenon Bluey. It’s a feel-good animated series about an anthropomorphic Blue Heeler puppy of the same name. Every seven-minute episode usually depicts some sort of adventure Bluey has, inspired by typical activities many everyday families have. It’s simple but also highly relatable. Every parent I know loves the series (probably more than their children).
Every time I finish an episode of Bluey? Tears.
My son has taken to looking at me with much glee when the finishing credits of Bluey come on, as he knows without a doubt there will be tears streaming down my face.
My stoicism isn’t the only thing that has changed since I had my son. Becoming a mum was a difficult process for me. Back then, I attributed my struggles to a few things: lack of sleep, attempting something new that I had little to no training in, and unintentionally starving my son because my body could not produce enough milk.
It was all of that, but with the benefit of hindsight, I now know a large part of my struggle was also because I was grappling with a loss of identity, a loss of who I used to be.
I was the stay-home full-time carer for my son in the first six months of his life. I no longer had a daily routine of going to work every weekday morning. I didn’t have weekends because every single day felt very much the same for me, except I had the company of my husband. I stopped writing and editing articles. I no longer knitted in my spare time or enjoyed any of the hobbies I used to have. I had no time (or energy) to go to the gym. Any conversation I had with people involved answering questions about my son, not me.
The person I used to be was fading into the background. I no longer recognized who I was.
Over the years, I gradually built up a new identity. I returned to full-time work but in a completely different role, working with and supporting other mums. I am now a full-time mum, packing lunch boxes every morning and helping my son with homework every evening. I find myself chatting with other mums at after-school pick-ups, talking about school uniforms, our children’s extracurricular activities, and school holiday plans. I no longer shop for myself, choosing instead to buy things for my child. I have fully embraced this “mum thing.”
Was the old me gone? Had I truly lost my original identity, the me that I had grown to love being before I became a mum?
Listening—and crying—to “I can only imagine” that day at church, I had an epiphany. While I had a new identity, I never really lost the old me.
For the past seven years, the old me merely took a step back so that I could help a brand-new human being shape his identity. It was all-consuming because it needed to be. When someone is completely helpless and fully reliant on you for their survival, everything else takes second place, even yourself.
Yet, as my son grows to become his own person, who I used to be is showing signs of return. While I don’t do it as often as I used to, I have finished several novels over the years. While I no longer have a gym membership, I wake up most morning before everyone else for an at-home workout. While I haven’t picked up those knitting needles, I’m once again enjoying snowboarding holidays. Where I thought having my son had completely killed my ability to write reflective pieces, the inspiration is slowly returning. Everything I used to enjoy, everything that used to make me, me, is returning.
I didn’t lose my identity some seven years ago. I was merely developing a different aspect to add to it. One whose eyes well up when watching a cartoon dog live her life, but one that is still definitely me.
Melody Tan is a freelance writer, content creator, and editor for both print and digital. She is currently the project leader of Mums At The Table, a multimedia initiative aimed at supporting mums in their parenting journey, through education and community. She and her husband live in Sydney, Australia, with their seven-year-old son.
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