We Were People Before We Were Parents

Devotion Doesn’t Require Disappearing

©alessandrobiascioli via Canva

Somewhere along the way, we stopped being people with lives—and became roles with responsibilities.

Not intentionally. Not dramatically. But slowly, quietly, and with the full approval of the world around us. We stopped talking about who we are and what we want. What lights us up. And we started leading every conversation with our kids.

We call it selflessness. We call it devotion. But let’s be honest—it's erasure. And it comes with a cost.

Disappearing Isn’t Love

There’s this unspoken rule we absorb early. Good parents go all in. Good parents make it about the kids. Good parents put themselves last—and keep themselves there.

We hear it in the compliments. She does everything for her kids. He never thinks of himself. And we wear that like a badge.

But disappearing isn’t a flex. It’s a problem.

We didn’t stop being people the day we became parents. We just stopped acting like it.

We’d never want our kids to lose themselves like this.

We tell them not to over-identify with grades or status. That their job isn’t who they are. That they shouldn’t shrink to fit someone else’s expectations.

And then we model the exact opposite.

We flatten ourselves into one role. We stop talking about our work, our friendships, our ideas, our joy—until there’s nothing left but parenting.

And if that’s all they see, that’s what they’ll learn. Not from what we say but from what we show them.

When We Shrink, Everything Around Us Does Too

When our identity fades, everything around us loses dimension. Friendships become check-ins. Marriages turn into project management. We stop being known because we stop offering anything real.

The drift isn’t always dramatic—it’s just distance. Not out of disinterest. Just habit.

That moment in the kitchen—phone in one hand, loading the dishwasher with the other, vaguely nodding at a partner or kid—when it hits us that we haven’t said one real thing in weeks. Not what we’re excited about. Not what’s lighting us up. Not what we need.

Just survival. Just tasks.

We used to talk about music. Books. Frustrations. Dreams. Now it’s to-do lists and Target runs. Which, fine. But there’s only so much spiritual growth that happens in the frozen food aisle.

We tell ourselves it’s just a phase. But if we’re not careful, it becomes the new normal.

If our kids never see us alive, what are we teaching them about living?

We’re Still In Here

We don’t mean to vanish—we just get quiet. We stop sharing. We stop reaching. We get smaller without realizing it.

We’re not boring. We’re not broken. We’re just rusty. And the longer we stay muted, the easier it is to forget how to speak.

We tell ourselves it’s temporary. But it’s not—unless we make it so.

And that’s why it matters.

Our kids don’t need us to be martyrs. They need us to be whole. They need to see what it looks like to live a life where parenting matters deeply—but doesn’t cancel everything else.

We’re still thinkers. Still creators. Still funny and complex and learning.

We were people before they arrived. And we’ll be people long after they’re gone. Let’s not forget it. And let’s stop making it so easy for everyone else to.

If all they remember is that we showed up—but not who showed up—what are we really leaving behind?

Let’s Show Up Like We Mean It

If we want to be seen again, we have to start showing up—fully. Not just as parents but as people with lives, needs, interests, and voices.

That means being willing to talk differently. Ask differently. Reach for something more honest, more human. It means bringing our real selves back into the room—even if we’re a little out of practice.

We don’t need to reinvent ourselves. We just need to stop hiding who we were before the role took over.

So maybe today…

We make room for a thought that’s just our own.
We ask something deeper and offer something true.
We return to something that used to matter—one small thing that reminds us we’re still in here.

Because they’re watching.
And this—this—is part of the job too.