I sat there, taking it all in. Hearing everyone's names and how old their children were. When it was my turn, I received the usual - You must be busy. I smiled, the comment all-too familiar now.
The room continued to share, some babies began crying and as I sat there listening, a strange feeling came over me.
I couldn't quite put my finger on it at the time. Only because it had been quite awhile since I had felt that way.
All I knew, in that moment, was that I felt completely at ease.
It was possibly one of the few times that I hadn't felt so uncomfortable in a mother's group situation. I wasn't lugging around extra bags or juggling a baby or wrangling a toddler. I wasn't trying to quiet a child, or calm a tantrum or feed discreetly.
I wasn't sitting there feeling out of my depth, insecure, incompetent.
I was Deb. Mum to 4 kids. And I had arrived.
As we continued to talk, I recognised the look in the other mum's eyes. Longing. Resignation. The silent imploring for someone to reassure them that it does get better. Willing someone to tell them that it's okay. That this is just a season and it will change again, all too soon.
It wasn't that long ago when that was me. Feeling overwhelmed with where I was and my self-belief as a mother. Feeling trapped, lost. But now I was on the other side. Walking ahead. No longer bound by the constraints of those early years. Enjoying the next stage on my journey.
And it felt amazing.
To be that person who had been there, done that and survived.
In that moment, in that room, I was comfortable. I was content.
I was Deb. Mum to 4 kids. And I had arrived.
