By Michelle Kennedy
May 17, 2023
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8 min read
The strongest feeling was that I’d really lost my identityI mean, I still felt like me deep down, and I didn’t want to lose that Michelle. But Googling for advice at 2am led me into a world of forums, abbreviations which were mystifying (“DH”, “OH”, “WTF”), and no real way to communicate and meet with mothers who felt, well who I felt were on my wavelength. There was a lot of judgement and opinion flying around, and I became so terrified of being criticised, I felt the equivalent of tongue tied (with a keyboard). Even more bizarrely, I seemed to become a lurker, wishing that another mother would ask the question I had, and then ducking when what felt like the inevitable judgement came flying. Even if I did get a rapport with someone responding to my questions (it happened once), it wasn’t really the done thing to ask her about meeting up ‒ I mean, that would just be, awkward. I was lonely and that was a really difficult realisation. I don’t think feeling lonely is a particularly acceptable admission at the grand old age of 30. I certainly didn’t feel comfortable about it, it felt like a dirty secret that I couldn’t verbalise. I mean, I had friends! I even had one friend who had a child. She was wonderful to me, and came to see me in hospital the day after Fin was born.
I felt more lonely than I could ever have thought possibleFeeling how I do today, it’s hard to remember feeling that way. I mean, I’d most likely have a quip in response, and anyone who knows me professionally would probably be amazed. But, at that very low, vulnerable moment, I felt more lonely than I could ever have thought possible. Speaking to my own mother on the phone was a godsend, she’s one of the strongest, funniest women I know. But, when I hung up that phone, that feeling of isolation, of ‘what should I do now’, well, it hadn’t disappeared. What I had also come to appreciate was, not all women are the same. There are so many different types of women, who all have different interests, values, points of view. Of course, not all mums are the same.
All I needed was to be able to find women like me who I could relate toI would share snippets with my friends, or my husband, but I didn’t really know how to articulate the feeling that I was lonely, and felt like I was faking it as a competent, together mother. Wherever I looked, I didn’t see anyone who seemed to be feeling the same way as me. I suppose the turning point for me was six months in, I started to get into my flow a little more, regain my confidence. I’ve heard people describe it as a fog lifting, and yes, it was. I returned to work and I felt a little more connected to the Michelle I understood. And, I’d made two wonderful friends who were mothers (thank you Emma and Meera, you saved me). I now feel that motherhood is a chapter in my book, not the only one, but for sure the most exciting. Sometimes it’s challenging, confusing, even scary, but it’s amazing. One thing I know absolutely is that it becomes a lot less daunting when you can share that journey with other women who love and respect the woman you are. All I needed was to be able to find women like me who I could relate to, women who happened to be mothers too. I needed that support. When I realised that I had the capacity to build a product to help me, and other women to find that network, well that was an epiphany. I had been running a tech company that provided dating apps for five years. It seemed obvious to me that I could use the learnings I had from this experience, the algorithms, some of the features, and modify those to create a product that would help women connect with other like-minded women (who happened to be mamas). To create a product that acknowledged motherhood as the best chapter in your book, but not the only chapter.
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