Join us in the Brewery Tap March 9, 10, 11 2017


Join us during the International Women’s day festival in Folkestone, where we will be taking over the Brewery Tap project space.  We will be sharing some of the responses from our workshops and giving opportunities for everyone to come in , spend time and respond to questions about motherhood and identity.  Its going to be a friendly space where young children are welcome to stay and mothers and others can make time to engage.

Motherhood and Identity Project returns

We’ve been dormant for a few months, but The Motherhood and Identity Project is back!

The Facebook group is open once more for your comments and to allow us to tell you more about where the project is heading for 2017. Email if you would like to be added.

We will be making recordings at workshops on 20 and 27 January at the Folkestone Quarterhouse, to which all women are welcome. Please sign up here.

Again, we’ll be asking you to respond to those fundamental questions: has becoming a mother affected your sense of self? Does this change in life change who you are? How are the physical, social, or political aspects of your identity altered by motherhood?

With these recordings a sound piece will be created. This sound piece and a connected event will form our contribution to Folkestone’s events around the week of International Women’s Day in March 2017.

I suddenly felt unimportant and a little bit lost

single page test15

I now realise that my sense of self, perhaps, along with my dress size has changed more in the last 7 years than at any other time in my life (discounting childhood). In 2009, I was a theatrical agent at an agency that was well respected and even admired by fellow agents, I was in a long-term relationship and a homeowner but I wasn’t terribly happy. I was desperate to have children. I felt I’d been waiting to embark on that and had (mostly) patiently bided my time until my partner was ready. I’d regaled him with friend’s tales of IVF/it taking a while/miscarriage to encourage him to ‘get on with it’.

Seven years ago this month, I discovered I was pregnant. The following month I miscarried. I took one day off work. We fell pregnant again in the summer, we had a holiday booked, it was lovely, we had a positive scan before we left, we got engaged, we came back, I miscarried. I had an ERPC (medical management) on a weekend and went into work on the Monday, maybe the Tuesday. Sadly, this pattern continued for the next two years: positive pregnancy test, a visible heartbeat then the silence in the ultrasound room. We lost 6 babies. Each time I felt a bit more broken, a bit less womanly, a bit less me, increasingly angry but mostly sad, just very, very sad. Beyond the identity of someone who had a pretty exciting job and went to film premieres was someone who knew that it was all pretty much bullshit and what was important was to be a mother. So it hurt, a lot. I hated my body. I couldn’t get away from it, from the fact that it was constantly letting me down by not holding onto a pregnancy or not getting pregnant quickly enough.

My life changed beyond all recognition, when I at last got my ‘take-home baby’ in September 2012. With overwhelming joy and relief also came a huge rude awakening. I couldn’t do STUFF, I couldn’t achieve. I just sat and nursed and cuddled this tiny little girl. And how amazing is that? ‘Enjoy it, relax’ I’d tell September 2012 version of myself. Whilst I was very much in love, I was also frustrated. I wasn’t used to doing nothing. There was a book on my shelf in front of where I breastfed and it was upside down for abut two months and it bothered me A LOT. I tried to relax into motherhood with this precious
little person but the loudest voices in my world talked of ‘spoiling’, ‘manipulating’, ‘self-soothing’. It felt instinctively wrong as it did for my husband but I had no idea how vulnerable I would feel. Thankfully, there were some quieter voices too with talk of Sears and routines rather than schedules which gave me permission to trust myself.

I continued to speak to clients, attend the theatre and get shouted at by producers throughout my 6 month maternity leave – I was just the same person (I thought) albeit blessed with a baby. I sorted out a nursery I was happy with, a capsule wardrobe. I was doing stuff so that I would be the me I had been before because that was what was expected. Work did not pan out as planned, a boss who reneged on verbal promises meaning that my choice was to work 5 days a week in London, seeing my babe from 6am on a Saturday to 7pm on a Sunday or NOT AT ALL. I’d planned to exit the business and leave my career behind over the coming months but not like this. To give up everything I had worked for over 18 years in a highly competitive industry wasn’t the most fun thing but it was also surprisingly easy at the same time.

The 6 months that followed were filled with doubt. I was worried I didn’t know how to be a mum anymore, how to entertain a 10 month old baby, how to structure my week. I realised I did have an ego and that I suddenly felt unimportant and a little bit lost. I also discovered that I was proud to call myself a feminist, that I felt incredibly strongly about maternal mental health and support networks for new parents (which led me to volunteer and run a weekly NCT meet up). I realised I wouldn’t die on the spot if I sang out loud or saw someone I knew barefaced without a smudge of foundation on.

I am ambitious, I still want to do things. Doing them for someone else makes me braver. It’s just dawned on me that I finally have the group of friends I’ve always dreamed of – bright, awesome women who happen to be mothers and happen to live a short walk away. I’m very lucky. I would have very much liked to experience giving birth again but I’m making peace with the fact that it won’t happen.

I like myself more than I ever have done. I’m parenting myself whilst parenting my child.

My identity is strong because of my children not in spite of them

single page test3


My journey started with my own mother walking out of our family home when I was 16 and never coming home. It wasn’t a surprise she had confessed to me the previous evening she was having an affair. What followed was promises not to leave my sister and I that she couldn’t keep. My mum and dad both moved in with new partners, sold our family home, and making my younger sister the priority for housing I was left homeless. This led to a very physically and emotionally abusive 5 year relationship with a man 19 years older than me. He stripped me of all my identity not a scrap of me survived. I didn’t even wear the clothes I liked. When I finally got away from him I looked for love wherever I could find it. I became very promiscuous and this resulted in my first pregnancy with my daughter T.

She saved me, its a cliche I know, but it’s true. I needed to protect this baby who loved me so much. Unlike lots of new mums, my new baby gave me an identity. I was a young mum who breastfed and co slept and took my daughter to playgroup. She motivated me to go back to university, we needed a future.  Just before T’s first birthday I fell pregnant again. I think finding my identity through my baby made me think I needed another to make me relevant. I quickly came to realise the reality would be very different and had a termination. This choice has haunted me every day since. It was what was best for us as a family but it’s left a dark shadow.

Fast forward 3/4 years I met my now husband. A wonderful, sensitive caring man who has been T’s father and my rock. We got married in 2009 and always wanted children together. 4 years of painful trying and a few early miscarriages followed. My mental health deteriorated at a high rate of knots. I was being punished for having the abortion years earlier. I knew this in my heart and no one could convince me otherwise. Suddenly I wasn’t a great mum anymore I was a desperate one. It was finally revealed that both my Fallopian tubes were blocked Id have to have them taken out if I had any chance of IVF working. I sobbed my way through an operation that would make me permanently infertile. The operation took my female identity away from me. I felt old and useless,
my body had failed me and I hated it.

I knew we couldn’t afford IVF and were not eligible on the NHS. I became an egg donor it was a no brainer for me. I needed IVF and another woman out there needed some eggs. I could help someone not to feel as hellish as I did, I could give some hope.  I had to write a letter to any children born from my donation. Information about me and why I was making my decision. I realised through this that my identity had changed again, I was a mum, a wife, and a person who truly wanted to do good things. I liked me for the first time in a long time.

We went through 2 IVF rounds and finally fell pregnant with twin boys the pregnancy was physically hard but I revelled in every minute of it. When the boys were born I was determined to be the same mum to them as I had been to T. I breastfed and co slept it was bloody hard. My husband tried really hard but the babies only wanted me. My family were nowhere to be seen.

My own mother’s lack of presence has significantly shaped how I am as a mother. I am determined to always be present for and with my children no matter how old they get. I’d rather be told to go home because I’m too there than them have to ask where I am. I will be in the delivery room for my grandchildren’s entrance into this world. I will not leave my children ever. My identity is strong because of my children not in spite of them. I am grateful every day that I have this family we created to call my own.

Motherhood loses me and finds me, isolates me and connects me to the world

single page test2


First a bit about me. I love a bit about me. I’m quite the over-achiever. And competitive with it too. What a heady combination. When motherhood came along I though ‘Ah HA! Here’s a buncha stuff I can be amazing at!’

Not so dears, not so. Being pregnant was hideous. I did not bloom, I did not glow, I just got FAT. And as a former fat kid (one of the pillars of my identity), being fat was not acceptable. So I worked out. I went to body pump, yoga, swimming, aqua aerobics… But SPD hit so I was fat AND useless and that was uncool. I was confused. I was supposed to look like Demi Moore on the cover of Vanity Fair. So far, so not achieving. The first time I felt E wriggle inside me I was panic-stricken. Waves of nausea and shame washed over me. Not what I was expecting. Seriously failing at this pregnancy business here.

Okay so let’s move through a catalogue of failure from that point on. Traumatic birth by emergency c-section.BFing made me want to throw myself off a bridge, I didn’t bond with my baby the way I was ‘supposed’ to, I dropped him on his head and pretty much hated being a mum (apart from our secret moments when I had nothing to do but just look at his quite-frankly-the-most-gorgeous-of-all-the-baby-faces face).How do you measure parenting success? By keeping spreadsheets of course. Did you know that by monitoring every time you feed your baby (left breast right breast), change his nappy (soiled, wet), put him down, pick him up, cuddle him, look at him you can actually control your environment? HA! HAHAHAAAA! I fell to bits. And I was still fat.

Perhaps my over-achieving personality was not prepared for the UTTER CHAOS that having a baby brings? I felt like I continuously got it wrong and I had no one to tell me that’s how it goes, and that, in fact, is parenting. Once E was old enough I got ‘My Life’ back – I got fit and I started doing a bit of work, which made me feel zingy and fabulous. But I wanted two kids and what was obviously sensible was to have another baby quickly so I could get it out of the way and get back to the attractive and productive identity ASAP.

Parenting two kids has not been easy! E didn’t take well to another addition to the family, mainly because he vibes offa me and I was terrified of how to look after a baby and a big ball of toddler fury. My friends talk me off the ceiling about once a month (I seriously don’t know what I’d do without them). I’ve read a stack of parenting books and still feel inadequate a lot of the time. And I want stuff. I want to work, I want to contribute, I want to be beautiful (thin), I want to be useful, I want to create, I want to have time with friends, with my husband, time to be alone, I want to be a good parent (I’m terrified that I’m not).

About 6 months ago I was surprised to find that I was really angry. Just generally raging. I started seeing a therapist and oh man, it threw up all sorts of stuff! My relationship with my boys, my parents, my family, with myself. It’s been a whirlwind. I’ve never felt happier, but never felt more confused! I’m working it all out, unpicking the knots. But without being a mother I would never have been alerted to any of it.

So, in conclusion (hallelujah!), motherhood has, for me, changed me in a million different ways. And it continues to challenge me and change me every day. It has made me vulnerable for the first time and as a result I’ve had to address every aspect of my being. It focuses me and takes me off course and loses me and finds me, isolates me and connects me to the world. Shoulda probably just written that first.

In motherhood I’ve found my place in a shared identity

Physically, motherhood it has healed me. A body I didn’t understand, used by another in ways that broke the spirit inside of it, became something to despise. My solution was to control it, with self harm and anorexia, eventually resolving into a less severe but long standing unhealthy relationship with food. Pregnancy was a heinous struggle, hyperemesis rendering me useless and miserable for months. But somehow… It felt better. I had to succumb to my body being in control of ME. It wasn’t punishing me as I had it, it was doing magic! Then came birth, which was the single most empowering bodily
experience I’ve ever had. My amazing vessel was designed for just this and it felt so right. And then breastfeeding, which blessedly came naturally, and compounded the growing trust I had in my own physiology. My body is no longer something to hate. It has created lives from mere cells and nurtured them into health and happiness.

Politically, my world has become smaller. I was an avid volunteer pre-children and had plans for a career in international aid or policy. My sphere of interest has changed – I’m so much more concerned with issues that do/will directly affect my children. This feels selfish somehow, but it’s another inescapable tenet of motherhood I guess that, at least for a time, your world becomes more inward-facing.

It is the social aspect that floors me. Entry into motherhood has been like entry into a secret realm – one you could never really understand before you got here and from which there is no turning back. Motherhood IS sisterhood in so many ways; a shared experience so strong that sometimes an understanding smile during a tantrum in a supermarket is enough to bring you back from the brink of despair.I came to motherhood as the ‘second twin’  and it provided the insight into my sister’s life that I had been missing and brought us back together like two halves of a whole. Friendships of mothers based on the compassion of everyday shared doubts, frustrations and joys just seem to have a natural depth that’s hard to replicate.

I won’t claim motherhood has solved my identity issues: I struggle with the feeling that I give so much of me to my children that there isn’t much left, and I have no idea what I’m going to do or who I’m going to be in ten years time. But I’m honoured to be part of this age-old tapestry that is motherhood, my tale being woven in with countless other women’s. I suppose in motherhood I’ve found my place in a shared identity. And I’m happy with that.