Beyond the Persona: Motherhood and Authenticity

My son & I

I entered new and unfamiliar territory when I became a mother.

I had no expectations of what motherhood would be like. From watching my friends with children, I knew the experience was unique to everyone—parenting is a process of trial and error. No one has it all figured out, and no one can truly teach you how to mother your child. But I had expected more support, more conversations, more openness. Needless to say, things didn’t unfold as I had imagined. Instead, I was met with a stark realisation: we don’t truly share much with each other.

To be fair, I tend to overshare—it’s my default setting. Ask me a question, and you’ll get an essay in return. It’s my way of connecting with people, this openness and vulnerability that leaves me subject to scrutiny. And no matter how many times I’ve read The Laws of Human Nature by Robert Greene or listened to him talk about the power of silence; my brain isn’t wired to be a cautious, silent observer. Perhaps that is the hamartia in my character—my Achilles’ heel. But, as I said, this has been my way of connecting—a way of signalling that I am an open book, inviting others to be the same.

Yet, during that year of maternity leave, when my senses felt heightened, I began to notice things I had previously overlooked. We talk a lot, but we rarely say what we truly mean. We keep things surface-level, maintain appearances, and avoid discussions that might make us look uncertain or different.

And as much as we believe we’re comfortable having all kinds of conversations with close friends, I found that some topics remained untouchable due to ideological differences. I have no desire to divulge those topics—they aren’t the focus here. But this realisation brought to the surface something I had always sensed: we hide so much of ourselves behind a veil of acceptability. We crave acceptance. There’s a childlike need to be liked. We shape our ideas based on those around us and rarely challenge each other to think beyond the beliefs we already hold.

Now, bear with me—this post isn’t about what you might think.

Something profound happened to me during my first year of motherhood—something that shifted my entire body and mind. I found myself desperately searching for a community of women who were open to sharing, questioning, and dissecting knowledge together. And I needed this community in real time, not on Mumsnet.

Becoming a parent is overwhelming. There are no set instructions, yet an endless stream of recommendations. And for the first time, holding the immense responsibility of another life, I took those recommendations seriously. But here’s the thing: nothing is universally tailored for every child. What works for one may not work for another. Some advice can be incredibly beneficial, but without thorough research and consideration, it can also be misleading—even harmful.

I longed for a space where we could break things down, challenge ideas, and truly understand the why behind what we were told, without fear, judgment or reprisal. But that space wasn’t easy to find. Instead, I noticed something unsettling: much of the knowledge we inherit is treated as absolute truth, immune to scrutiny. And when you dare to question it, when you push for deeper understanding, you’re often met with resistance—a closed door rather than an open conversation.

As a teacher, I’m told to encourage a “growth mindset” in children, to help them move away from a “fixed mindset.” Schools across the world instil this mindset—a willingness to expand knowledge and engage with new concepts. We expect young people to be intellectually malleable, yet that openness often vanishes in adulthood. Once we settle into our niche—our perspectives, our neatly defined worldviews, a body of knowledge we’re comfortable with—we stop interrogating everything, embracing what we know as absolute truth. But I digress.

What intrigued me that first year of motherhood, alongside learning about all the wonderful milestones of my son, was us—people. How we parrot ideas. How our intellectual curiosity seems to wither with age. How comfortable we are sitting among others, playing pretend, engaging in conversations that lack depth, nuance, or research, yet are held dearly.

I thought deeply about Carl Jung's work that year, his exploration of archetypes, particularly his analysis of the Persona and the Shadow. It struck me—sadly—that most of us exist solely as the Persona, confined within its limits. Lacking the critical tools and understanding to move beyond this facade, the vast majority will never confront their Shadow self—let alone learn to walk alongside it.

On a micro level, observing my friends and other mothers in my son’s playgroups, engaging in discussions about the challenges of motherhood and the decisions we make for our children, I saw it—even with them. The performance. The curated narratives. The desire to present a version of ourselves that aligned with expectations rather than our own realities.

My introduction to motherhood became not just about raising my child; it was a mirror reflecting the deeper truths about human connection—how much we hold back, how much we fear being outliers. We tiptoe around difficult conversations because we fear how we’ll be perceived, how they might push us to the fringes of acceptability.

What was emphasised that year, is that people are often afraid of those who think and speak beyond the boundaries of convention—those who dare to question the so-called concrete truths we’ve all accepted, who challenge the status quo, who strip away the veneer of respectability to confront topics that usually go unchallenged.

I have come to realise that those who engage with different ideologies, explore diverse perspectives, and continuously question their understanding often reach a deeper sense of clarity. And for me, that clarity is this: I am no longer afraid of my own thoughts. I am no longer afraid of their impact or how they will be received. I embrace being an outlier, holding different opinions, and expressing them—not to impose, but to encourage thought and deeper discussion. I refuse to silence myself simply because others might dismiss my experiences as exaggerated or invalid. This is what motherhood gave me. I’m no longer afraid to exist on the margins.

There’s a phrase that gets thrown around a lot—living authentically or being your authentic self. But what does that really mean? How do you know when you’ve arrived at that place?

For me, authenticity feels like freedom from the weight of others’ opinions. It feels like speaking my truth without concern for how it will be received. It means no longer tolerating discomfort just to maintain someone else’s comfort. It means being open to difficult conversations and willing to mend relationships through honest dialogue. It means recognising that anything requiring my silence isn’t worth protecting. And it means understanding that if something no longer serves my inner peace or my ability to walk in truth, I can let it go—without hesitation.

This is the power that having my son gave me. And I cherish it, almost as much as I cherish him.