As I attended my husband's holiday work party, a customary gathering filled with fine cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, a moment arose that perfectly encapsulated my struggle with identity in motherhood. Amid the laughter and chatter, I noticed a man across the bar, a dark-suited participant engaged in conversation with my husband. Suddenly, he spat out his hors d'oeuvre, and acting purely on instinct, I reached out with my napkin to catch the remnants.

In that surreal moment, I found myself holding a stranger's rejected food, an act filled with absurdity that went unnoticed by the others around me. What triggered this reaction? It seemed a bizarre manifestation of the old societal norms—an illustration of how deeply embedded the maternal instinct can be. Why was I, a woman dressed to the nines, instinctively responding to someone else’s discomfort, while they continued to converse like nothing unusual had happened?

It's often said, “You can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy.” Adapting that to my life, I feel: “You can dress a woman up in heels and a cocktail dress, but you can’t take the 'mom' out of her.” The act of cradling that man's chewed food made me reflect: once a mother, does that label forever define me?

As I navigate my children entering adulthood, I face the complex task of loosening the tight strings of motherhood. When my first child was born, the fierce maternal instincts were latent, almost hidden beneath layers of new experience. Over the years, however, they grew like wild vines, twisting and entwining deeply within my psyche.

Pregnancy brought a rush of hormones like oxytocin and estrogen, a transformative experience often referred to as "nesting." This instinct led me to create a nurturing environment, where I was both a caretaker and a singular figure bound to my home. I remember feeling like a bird once soaring in the sky, only to suddenly be grounded by the demands of motherhood.

It took years to embrace my role and find a sense of fulfillment in "motherhood." I built my nest, slowly adapting to the responsibilities that weighed upon me. Along the way, I connected with other mothers who felt similarly entrapped, forming a support system—a flightless flock, if you will—all yearning for a semblance of independence.

Now my children are approaching their late teens, with one already in university, and I am beginning to feel the natural unraveling of those once strong maternal bonds. I find myself tugging at the strings that have long held me captive, and as I do, I start to reclaim my identity beyond being just a mother.

This transitional phase is empowering as I take steps toward putting myself first. It's not just about my own freedom, but about nurturing my children's independence too. I strive to model a life where they see that it’s okay to embrace their own journey, free from the weight of their upbringing.

As I tuck away the metaphorical vines of motherhood, I plan to repurpose that energy into exploring who I am outside of this defined role. The journey of self-discovery has only just begun, and it’s time for this former bird to test her wings once more, creating a life filled with personal aspirations, passions, and perhaps, even adventures waiting to be seized.