Have you heard the word matrescence?

I hadn't. Not until recently. And when I did, my first thought was: thank f**k. I'm not going crazy.

Matrescence is the term for the psychological, physical, and identity transformation a woman goes through when she becomes a mother. It was coined in the 1970s by anthropologist Dana Raphael, the same researcher who introduced the term "doula" and then quietly disappeared from the conversation for decades. Only recently has it started to surface again, backed by neuroscience, and finally giving language to something millions of women have felt but couldn't name.

It's the becoming. The in-between. The strange, disorienting limbo of no longer being who you were and not yet knowing who you are now.

Sound familiar?

The limbo nobody warns you about.

For me it was immediate. I had a tough delivery and came out of it feeling like a shell of my former self. I didn't recognise my body. I didn't recognise my face. I saw my toes for the first time in months and felt like a stranger looking down at them.

Then I tried to get dressed. Everything was too big, but nothing from before fit either. And it's still this way, six months in. A limbo between two versions of yourself. The one pre-baby. The one post. And somewhere in the middle, trying to figure out who you actually are now.

I haven't crossed over into what it feels like to get your pink back yet. But I hear it's great.

What matrescence actually means.

The science is worth knowing not because it fixes anything, but because it validates everything.

Research published in Nature Neuroscience found that pregnancy causes lasting structural changes to the brain. Grey matter shifts. Neural pathways rewire. The brain quite literally reorganises itself around the needs of the baby. Heightening empathy, threat detection, and attunement to another human being in ways that persist for years.

This isn't sentiment. It's neurology. You are quite genuinely  not the same person you were before. Your brain has changed. Your hormones have changed. Your priorities, your body, your sense of self, all of it is in the process of becoming something new.

The problem is that nobody tells you this is happening. Society hands you the baby and expects you back to "normal" within weeks. And when you're not when you still feel like a stranger in your own life six months later ,the silence makes it feel like failure.

It isn't failure. It's matrescence. And it takes time.

Your body is part of it too.

Body image is a huge pill to swallow. You're soft and squishy especially if you're still breastfeeding. And whoever said the weight falls off when you breastfeed is a liar, by the way.

Navigating a new body is genuinely difficult. Breasts larger. Hips wider. Things look different. Things feel different. And the pressure to "bounce back" a phrase that should be retired immediately sits on top of all of it like one more thing you're apparently failing at.

You're not failing. Your body just did something extraordinary and is still in the process of recalibrating. The version of you that exists right now soft, changed, still figuring it out, is not a before photo. It's just you, right now, in the middle of something.

Some things actually change for the better.

Here's the bit that surprised me.

Before the baby, I was a people pleaser. Now, if something doesn't serve my baby or genuinely serve me, it's not a priority. I have no time for pointless meetings. No patience for conversations that go nowhere. Having a baby has made me more productive, more focused, and significantly less interested in performing for other people.

And the old life? I thought I'd grieve it. I panicked about it during pregnancy. But the opposite happened. I loved life before. Now I really love it. It's chaos and messy and completely manic but it's so full. I wouldn't change a thing.

Do I miss doom scrolling freely? Sure. But now I get to do it nap-trapped with a baby on my chest. Honestly not the worst trade.

The loneliness of being in between.

Even when you're not grieving your old life, matrescence can feel lonely. Because you're in a version of yourself that nobody quite sees yet, not even you.

Six months in, I'm getting there. I still have moments. The mirror still catches me off guard sometimes. But I'm starting to understand that this isn't something to fix or rush through. It's something to ride.

My baby is not yet one. Until then, I'm not the priority and I've made peace with that. When the time comes, I'll carve out more space for myself again. For now, I'm going with the flow. Making memories. Trusting that the person on the other side of this is going to be someone worth meeting.

What actually helps.

Honestly? Mostly time. You have to let your body and mind ride the wave. There is light. Promise.

But a few things genuinely make it easier:

• Knowing the word matrescence exists. Seriously. Having language for what you're going through changes how it feels. You're not falling apart. You're transforming. Those are different things.
• Being kind to yourself - aggressively. The bar for what counts as "doing well" needs to drop significantly in the first year. You are doing more than enough.
• Talking to someone who gets it. Not to fix it. Just to be heard. A friend who's been through it, a midwife, a therapist. Anyone who can say "I know" and mean it.
• Letting go of the timeline. There is no "back to normal." There is only forward, into whoever you're becoming. That person is allowed to take as long as she needs.

The thing we want you to know.

When the baby is no longer a newborn, the world expects mothers to be fine. Recovered. Back. And the cruelest part of matrescence is that it often peaks just as the support fades. When the visitors stop coming, the maternity leave ends, and everyone assumes you've found your feet.

You don't have to be fine. You're allowed to still be in the middle of it at six months, at a year, at two years. Becoming a mother is one of the most profound identity shifts a human being can go through. It deserves more than six weeks and a sign-off from a GP.

You're not going crazy. You're not failing. You're in the middle of something enormous.

And the person on the other side? She's going to be extraordinary.

If you're struggling with your identity or mental health postpartum, please speak to your GP or midwife. You can also contact PANDAS Foundation on 0808 1961 776 or visit pandasfoundation.org.uk for free support.