More than ‘mum’: Dancing my way back to myself
Janice Fenech
Motherhood arrived in my life like a tidal wave of love. While I had spent years studying, graduating, and building a career I was proud of, becoming a mother was the dream I held closest. I remember being just five years old, asking my mum exactly where she met my dad so that I could go there too, find someone, and one day become a mother myself.
For most women, the wedding day is their ultimate milestone. For me, it was the day I held a positive pregnancy test in my hand. It had taken just under a year - countless tests, tears, and hopeful nights - but that moment made everything worth it. And when I finally held my baby in my arms, those tiny fingers and big love-filled eyes felt like the beginning of forever.
But what no one talks about - the part that took me completely by surprise - was what I began to lose along the way.
Without realising it, the woman I once was started to slowly fade into the background. My passions, my spontaneity, my confidence, and my sense of self began to blur under the weight of daily responsibilities and relentless love for my child. To the world, I had become “Mum,” and eventually, that became all I saw in the mirror too.
My body had changed. My eyes carried a constant shadow of exhaustion. I poured every ounce of myself into my child, my family, my home. And still, I felt the creeping presence of emptiness. I was living a full life on the outside - yet inside, I felt like I was disappearing.
Seven years passed before I gave myself permission to attend the occasional yoga or Pilates class. They helped a little - I moved, I breathed - but something was still missing. Then, last summer, I did something brave. I signed up for a dance course at the jazz school I hadn’t stepped into for thirteen years. This time, I had my seven-year-old son by my side, his little hand wrapped around mine.
“My legs itched to bolt out of that room, but I couldn’t. I had my son with me, and I knew that more than any words I could ever say, it was my actions that would teach him resilience. I couldn’t let him see me give up.”
I thought it would be a class filled with women like me - maybe in their thirties, juggling life, looking to reconnect. But as I walked in, I realised I was surrounded by early twenty-somethings, fresh-faced and full of energy. My legs itched to bolt out of that room, but I couldn’t. I had my son with me, and I knew that more than any words I could ever say, it was my actions that would teach him resilience. I couldn’t let him see me give up.
So I danced.
My legs weren’t as strong or smooth as they once were. My tummy had changed, and cellulite had become an uninvited companion. But something magical happened - my heart felt every beat of the music more deeply than ever before. I reminded myself: I’m not here to compare. I’m here to feel alive again.
And the experience? It was transformative. My son watched in awe, cheering me on, filming every twist, turn, and awkward pose. And then there was Justin - our teacher at The College of Dance - whose calm encouragement and belief in everyone’s potential made all the difference. He saw more than just movement; he saw heart, and he inspired me to keep going even when my legs - and confidence - wanted to quit.
“Something magical happened - my heart felt every beat of the music more deeply than ever before. I reminded myself: I’m not here to compare. I’m here to feel alive again.”
Now, almost a year later - and one big dance show behind me - I see how vital it is to make time for what lights us up. Yes, my son will always come first. Yes, there are sacrifices. But now, I find time for me too. And while mom guilt sometimes creeps in during a late-night rehearsal, I remind myself of a truth that all mothers need to hear: loving our children deeply doesn’t mean losing ourselves completely.
We shouldn’t have to choose between motherhood, career, and passion. We can hold space for all of it. Sometimes one will demand more than the others, and yes, it can take years to find that balance. But it’s worth fighting for.
So if you're reading this and feel like you've lost a piece of yourself - please know you’re not alone. And please, take a baby step. Reconnect with what made you feel alive before you were called “Mum.” Pick up that book, that paintbrush, that guitar. Book the class, write the poem, take the walk.
Motherhood is a beautiful chapter - but it is not the whole book.
About the author
Janice Fenech is the General Manager of a fund management company with over 15 years of corporate experience leading operations, managing high-value portfolios, and driving growth — all while bringing clarity, resilience, and a human touch to every challenge.
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