I didn’t go looking for a self concept transformation. Not intentionally. I wasn’t chasing it down with a self help book in one hand and a green smoothie in the other. It just… sort of happened. Quietly. Like an overdue stretch after sitting too long.
It started one morning, mid-chew on a piece of toast, when my youngest looked up and asked, “Are you happy?” And I froze—like, actually stopped chewing. Because what even is happy anymore? I said yes, of course I did. But inside? I wasn’t so sure.
All the Little Ways You Drift
There’s no single moment that breaks you down. It’s a slow unraveling, thread by thread. You forget what your laugh used to sound like when it wasn’t tired. Dancing in the kitchen stops happening. And somehow, “fine” becomes your default, even when you’re nowhere close to it.
Motherhood, life, work, bills—it all adds up. I found myself defaulting to autopilot most days. Wake up. Make breakfast. Break up whatever argument the boys are having about who gets the blue cup. If I’m lucky, I might be able to take a shower (the universe may or may not allow that), but even on the easy days, there was a little voice in the back of my mind. Nothing too boisterous or dramatic. Just… there. It started as background noise. At first, you don’t notice it. Then suddenly, it’s the only sound in the room. That’s when it landed—I couldn’t even remember what I liked. Not truly. Not really. I’d become good at playing roles—Mom, Wife, Human Checklist—but I couldn’t find my self concept transformation in there. That’s probably when it started. The shift. The change I didn’t know I was waiting for.
Clarity in the Middle of a Mess
One Saturday afternoon, I was decluttering the playroom—you know, that endless loop of “Why do we still have this broken toy?”—and I stumbled on a stack of old drawings and notes the kids had made. Stuff like “Mom is a superhero” and “You always smell like pancakes.” I sat there, buried in plastic dinos and crusty markers—and I just cried.
I cried because I missed myself. The old version. The one who used to be silly and spontaneous and sometimes downright weird. But I also cried because I saw her there, hidden in those crayon sketches and sticky-hand hugs. She wasn’t gone—just buried under years of caretaking and forgetting.
That messy room became a weird turning point. I wasn’t suddenly strong or full of wisdom or anything like that. But something in me had finally opened up—I felt present, like I’d just come up for air.
Noticing What Kids Really Notice
Something funny happens when you start reconnecting with yourself—your kids notice. They always do. You can’t fake your way through it for long. They see everything.
My older son started inviting me to his “confidence club,” which was honestly just a pile of random cardboard, duct tape, and wild ideas. The first time, I almost said no. I had stuff to do. Laundry. Dishes. Guilt. But then something stopped me, and I said yes instead.
We built a spaceship out of cereal boxes. It collapsed three times. We laughed like we hadn’t in weeks.
And it hit me—those confidence building activities for kids people always talk about? They’re not always structured games or color-coded crafts. Sometimes they’re just watching your mom act goofy with duct tape on her nose. Sometimes it’s witnessing your parents try something they’re not good at, and do it anyway.
That kind of confidence? That sticks. More than worksheets. More than pep talks.
Accidentally Inspired
Around the same time, I came across a small display at the library labeled Inspirational Publications for children and adults. Normally, I steer clear of anything with the word “inspirational” slapped on the front, but I guess I was soft that day.
I picked up a thin book called The Girl Who Collected Sunlight. It looked like it was for kids, but something about the title pulled me in. I read it in one sitting while the boys were at swim class. And I don’t know… it just got me.
The story wasn’t complex. It was quiet. A little girl walking through a gray world, collecting light from small moments—a smile, a skipped stone, a warm cup of tea. It was simple but honest. Like a nudge. Like, “Hey, maybe you’re allowed to collect your light too.”
It forced me to stop for a moment and really think of all the small pleasures that I had otherwise moved on from. I could see the books I said I would read still unwritten.
The songs I didn’t sing. The tiny versions of myself I’d been too busy to honor.
Wobbly Steps, Still Moving
None of this turned me into a different person overnight. I still lose my patience. I still eat dinner standing up more than I’d like to admit. But something’s shifted. This slow, clumsy self concept transformation —if that’s even the right term—just sort of unfolded without me realizing it. And now? I see myself. And that’s new.
I started taking tiny steps. Then came the yeses to stuff that made me nervous, like this local writing group, even though I hadn’t written in forever. Dancing with the boys while we cleaned became a thing, too, even when we looked ridiculous. And instead of texting, I left voice messages for friends, just so they could actually hear me.
And it’s not always pretty. Growth rarely is.
But I can feel the shift. Not just in me, but in them too. My kids look at me differently now. Not because I’m suddenly better, but because I’m trying. And they see that. They feel it. It matters.
Everyday Confidence, Real and Messy
A couple of nights back, we ended up in this totally unplanned karaoke mess in the living room. Just me and the boys, yelling nonsense into hairbrushes like we were on tour or something. At one point, I went all in on a Shania Twain song with my eyes shut and arms in the air, pretending there were stage lights all around me. It was ridiculous… and kind of perfect.
My youngest stopped mid-dance and went, “You’re kind of brave, huh?”
I had no idea what to say. I mean—I was in mismatched socks and a stained sleep shirt that still smelled like last night’s pasta. But yeah. In that moment, I was kind of brave.
It wasn’t about sounding good or looking polished. It was about being there. Being loud. Being okay with the mess. That’s what I want for them, honestly. Not perfection. Not performance. Just the courage to show up as themselves. And if I’m lucky, all these wild little moments become their real-life confidence building activities for kids, even if no one labels them that.
Which is, weirdly enough, also what I want for me.
The Unfinished Story of Being
This is me in this moment – caught somewhere between who I used to be and who I am still becoming. There are days when I feel stable and grounded in myself, and there are days when I deal with the petty little things and keep moving forward anyway.
Funny thing—I used to think those Inspirational Publications for children and adults were just fluff for classrooms. Turns out, some of them stick with you. Quiet, but real.
This self concept transformation isn’t flashy. It didn’t come with hashtags or a makeover montage. It came with a few little decisions. Quiet ones. Like forgiving myself faster. Saying “yes” more often. Being willing to learn who I am all over again.
Weird as it sounds, I’ve actually started looking forward to it—becoming someone my kids can learn from. Not ‘cause I’ve got it all figured out, but because I’m still figuring it out. Still curious.
And maybe that’s what really matters.
