A working professional in HR shared candidly about the profound transformation she experienced after becoming a mother. Far from a surface-level discussion of work-life balance, the conversation explored the deeper, more invisible layers of early motherhood—identity shifts, emotional and mental load, and the complexities of navigating expectations at home and at work.

Rather than focusing on corporate policy or career strategy, she opened up about what it meant to lose and rediscover herself. Her story reveals how motherhood can become a mirror for grief, growth, and ultimately, a new kind of self-trust.

She didn’t talk about her motherhood journey in terms of logistics or newborn sleep schedules. She spoke about a much deeper transformation—an identity shift she hadn’t anticipated; “I was mourning the person I used to be.”

In the early days, she didn’t recognize herself. The confidence and clarity that had defined her pre-motherhood self felt distant. It wasn’t just the lack of time—it was the disorienting sense of no longer knowing who she was.

“There was a lot of grief. Not because I didn’t love my baby—I did—but because I missed myself. You’re not just adding a role — you’re reconstructing a self.”

Being the first in her circle to have a child, she often felt alone in this shift. Her love for her son was never in question, but the emotional terrain of early motherhood was lonelier than she expected.

“It’s a very internal journey—and nobody really sees it. People don’t talk about how lonely motherhood can feel, even when you’re constantly with someone.”

That loneliness didn’t stop with her sense of self—it extended into her relationship. Becoming parents didn’t bring her and her partner closer; it revealed how hard it would be to hold things together without support.

They had no extended family nearby, no childcare, and two demanding jobs. The imbalance was immediate—and exhausting.

“The main thing that made me explode was just… I had too much. Too much work. Too much pressure. Too much on myself at home. Our tasks were not 50/50, and it didn’t work out. I couldn’t make it.”

There was no shared rhythm—only survival mode. What broke her wasn’t just the sleep deprivation, but the sense that no one else could step in. She wasn’t just overwhelmed—she was isolated inside a collapsing partnership.

Looking back, she doesn’t speak with bitterness, but with clarity. The relationship didn’t survive the pressure. And when asked what she’d tell new parents, her answer was humble but firm:

“Have a really formal discussion with your partner before the baby arrives. Who takes care of what. I thought it would be more natural—but it wasn’t.”

One of the hardest parts wasn’t what people saw—but what they didn’t. The invisible labor. Unlike her professional role, which offered structure, goals, and feedback, motherhood demanded constant emotional output with little recognition.

⇒ In Switzerland, women aged 15 and over invested an average of 28.7 hours per week in domestic and family work in 2020, compared to 19.1 hours for men. This includes tasks like cooking, cleaning, shopping, and childcare. (CH Federal Statistics Office 2024)

Without family support, no available daycare spot, and a partner who was also working heavily, the weight of daily responsibilities quickly became overwhelming—too much work at the office, too much to carry at home, and constant pressure from all sides.

Eventually, she changed jobs—and that decision became a turning point.

Her new role offered something rare: understanding.

“I had a lot of flexibility. My boss was a mom as well—with two small kids—and she was CFO. She knew I was by myself, and she was really comprehensive… I’ve never felt so supported.”

And yet, even with a supportive manager, the pressure lingered—this time from within; “I really didn’t want to miss work. I really wanted to be good at what I was doing.”

And the structural challenges remained. Living in Switzerland, she was unable to secure a spot in daycare and the cost of childcare remains very high.

⇒ A UNICEF study of childcare costs across 41 high-income countries, found that Ireland, New Zealand, and Switzerland have the least affordable childcare for the middle class. Two earners of average wage would need to spend up to half of one salary to pay for two children in childcare. (UNICEF 2021)

“Someone in my town told me I should stop working for 2 or 3 years until my son went to school. But I was like, no—I don’t want to be a stay-at-home mom. I really want to work, and I’m really proud of myself that I continued.”

Her determination to maintain her career, despite limited institutional support, speaks to a broader issue many women in Switzerland and beyond face: systems that don’t fully support working mothers.

⇒ In Switzerland,1 in 9 economically active mothers leaves work after the birth of their first child and the proportion of part-time work doubles. (LeNews 2022)

As time passed, she began to shift—not in a dramatic way, but slowly, through presence and self-reflection. She didn’t try to return to who she was before. She began to understand who she was becoming during the motherhood journey.

“There’s no going back. But I can make space for who I am now.”

That space wasn’t easy to claim. It required letting go of old expectations and sitting with discomfort. But she found strength in small practices—giving herself permission to feel, learning not to rush the process, trusting that clarity would come with time.

She didn’t present herself as someone who had it all figured out. What she offered was something more honest: a willingness to stay with the questions.

Her story is deeply personal, but not unique. Many working professionals—especially women—navigate this identity shift in silence. They return to work, meet expectations, and carry on. But underneath, they’re undergoing a quiet transformation.

What made her story resonate was that she named what often goes unnoticed: the grief, the confusion, and the quiet rebuilding of self. These words give others permission to acknowledge their own shifts.

In a culture that often skips to the “bounce back,” her honesty serves as a reminder: identity doesn’t snap back. It stretches. It deepens. It changes shape.

“Now I lead with more softness. Not because I’m weaker, but because I know strength can look different.”

This motherhood journey is not one of resolution, but of recognition. It’s about honoring the complexity of change—and learning to trust that the self we’re becoming is just as worthy as the one we miss.