“On the day that you were born,
the angels got together
and decided to create a dream come true.”“(They Long to Be) Close to You” by The Carpenters
According to the cosmic grapevine, I met my demise in a previous life by drowning. The details of my acquatic mishap weren’t revealed by the medium, but given that 3-year-old me nearly drowned in this life when I sunk to the bottom of our backyard swimming pool during a family birthday party, it seems I’m destined to explore the deep ends of life.
Get it? Deep ends. Because I’m a deep thinker. Just go with me here.
Through the looking glass.
It was with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism when my now-husband—the one who patiently endures my nighttime antics—and I sat down with a psychic at the Western Fair in 1999. The idea of peeking into past lives we might have lived or catching a glimpse of what our future might hold was also irresistibly intriguing. It felt a bit like watching a good thriller unfold—except we were the main characters, and the plot was, well, pretty vague.
I wonder if my grandmother felt the same curiosity when, in 1935, she also visited a fortune-teller. Or maybe she was just seeking a little hope in uncertain times. Among the vague predictions she also received, the psychic told her that she’d have three children: two boys and one girl. For all the ones of you reading this, you will recall that she ended up with eight children.🤷
Belief in psychics is often chalked up to chance or deception. But there’s something undeniably fun and alluring about the idea of uncovering new truths about ourselves, even if through an unconventional lens. These glimpses invite us to reflect on who we are and how we fit into the greater story of life.
That said, while psychics can be entertaining, the real revelations about who we are don’t come from someone else’s predictions. They come from the lives we live, the moments that challenge us, and the roles that transform us. For me, that moment came when I became a mother.
Me, myself and I.
We all live with different versions of ourselves: the person we think we are, the person others perceive us to be, and the person we truly are. For years, Younger Me struggled to reconcile these layers. Was I the shy, introspective person I saw in the mirror? The confident woman others assumed I was? Or maybe neither? Or maybe someone in between? The ghosts of my past self often lingered, casting shadows on how I saw Future Me. And while each helped me connect the dots of my story, they hadn’t yet revealed who I was meant to be.
But then came motherhood, and everything changed.
Suddenly, the layers of self-perception began to peel back. I discovered a truer version of myself, one that had been waiting (somewhat) patiently for this moment. It was as if all the fragmented versions of myself didn’t disappear but instead converged. The quiet observation of the young girl, the patience of the dreamer, the strength of the confident woman—they all played a role in the mother I became.
Being a mother is like diving into the deep end of life—no handbook, no lifeline (and no Google back then!)—just the humbling realization that a tiny life depends on you. Every stage—from sleepless nights sitting by his hospital bedside to his endless and endearing “why” questions—became an opportunity to grow and give, even when I felt completely out of my depth.
In every giggle, every grasp of his tiny hand and every quiet moment I found joy. I discovered an unspoken language with my son, unlocking a bond that felt as though it had always been there, waiting. Even on the hard days, when I was physically and emotionally exhausted in ways I’d never known, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be, doing what I was meant to do.
It challenged me to become more patient, more compassionate and more understanding than I ever imagined possible. Every moment from the mundane to the extraordinary felt like piecing together a puzzle, each one a clue to who I was becoming.
Seeing the world through his eyes was a gift. His curiosity, innocence, and wonder reminded me of life’s beauty. And the love—oh, the love. It was fierce, protective, and unconditional. The kind that made my chest ache and my heart full with every little milestone.
Motherhood was—IS—messy, imperfect, beautiful, overwhelming, challenging, and utterly extraordinary. It didn’t just change me; it defined me. It connected me to something greater—an unshakable sense of purpose and a deeper understanding of myself. I didn’t just discover who I was—I became the person I was always meant to be.
“And you became the mother he needed,” Past Me would whisper to Future Me reassuringly.