Where Do Women Go When They Lose Themselves?

Today, I caught myself staring again. Not at my reflection this time, but at someone sitting across from me. A young woman maybe just around my age. She had two children clinging to her, one nestled in her arms and the other leaning heavily against her shoulder. Her eyes darted between the children and her surroundings like she had trained herself to exist in fragments, always watching, always doing.

And then I looked at myself. I mean really looked. My hands are my own, not weighed down by tiny fingers tugging at them. My mind is my own too—free to wander into dreams and distractions without worrying about bottles to fill or diapers to change. The starkness of our parallel lives truck me like a slap. Two people of the same age, yet our worlds couldn’t be more different.

It reminded me of a line from Fatima Abala’s Broken. There’s a part where Faiza asks Ahmad( if I recall the name correctly)what his greatest fear is in marriage, and he says it’s seeing the woman he loves lose herself. I used to think that was such a dramatic, almost theatrical, answer. But now, sitting here, it feels less like fiction and more like an echo of reality.

And this is the reality, isn’t it? For many women, the moment marriage and motherhood enter the picture, the person they were starts to fade. Slowly, subtly, but undeniably. It’s in the little things at first—forgetting what foods they like because they’re too busy cooking for others, putting off their dreams because the family’s needs come first. Before long, it’s bigger things. Their passions become memories, their sense of self something they can barely grasp.

And it goes beyond the body. The emotional toll—oh,the one the society refers to as being dramatic! There’s postpartum depression that no one talks about except a few ‘elites’ in Nigerian homes. There’s hair falling out in clumps, sleepless nights that stretch into sleepless years. There’s the pressure to look perfect even when their bodies and minds are screaming for rest.

I’ve seen this pattern in so many women around me. Some don’t even realize it’s happening until it’s too late. They wake up one day, surrounded by the family they’ve built, and wonder where they’ve gone. Their dreams? Buried under piles of laundry. Their ambitions? Silenced by the demands of survival.

But then I think about the exceptions. There are women who refuse to fade away. I’ve seen Nigerian women in politics, medicine, and business who continue to chase their passions even after marriage and children. I think of the ones who go back to school after years of raising kids, or who start businesses from their kitchens and build them into empires. They’re inspiring, but they’re rare. And I can’t help but wonder: why? Why do they have to be the exception and not the norm?

But then, there are the exceptions—women who manage to hold onto their sense of self, even as they juggle the demands of marriage and motherhood. I’ve seen women who continue to nurture their passions—whether it’s a career, a hobby, or simply taking time to care for themselves—without letting their identities fade into the background.

I think of those who carve out moments to read, to learn, or to engage in activities that make them feel alive. It doesn’t always have to be about chasing a career; it’s about preserving that part of them that used to be there as a young lady, that essence of who they are outside of their roles as wives or mothers.

These women are a reminder that you can nurture others without neglecting yourself. But still, I wonder: why does it seem so rare? Why does it feel like holding onto oneself has to be an exception rather than something more common? Surely, it doesn’t have to be this way.

I think about myself and the future, and it terrifies me. I don’t want to lose myself in the name of being a “good” mother or wife. Why should I have to choose between loving others and loving myself? Why can’t both coexist?

The truth is, you don’t have to pour every ounce of yourself into others until there’s nothing left. You can nurture others while nurturing yourself. You can be a mother without losing the woman you are. At least, that’s what I tell myself. Because the alternative? It’s too heartbreaking to even consider.

This is just a rant anyway but if you're a ‘nurturer' too,make it a point of duty to nourish yourself while doing others.