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There is a silent heist that happens when you become a parent.
It starts with a subtle shift in how the world speaks to you. People stop asking how you are and start asking how the baby is doing. The questions are no longer about your tennis matches and the books you’re reading, but whether your kids are doing well in school.
The people asking these questions are rarely actually that interested in the minor day-to-day of someone else’s kid. They’ve just assumed that this one major event has so completely changed how you live your life that it has fundamentally replaced all the other interests, goals, worries, and opinions you used to have with a single new one: the child. Without realizing it, they’ve written off your personality as “out of office” until further notice.
Slowly, the person is replaced by the role. You’re no longer a human with complex internal struggles and motivations. You are a stock character.
Parents - especially moms - often get the worst of this. But the flattening that happens when you step into a new major life “role” is a wider phenomenon that can happen to anyone.
And here’s the most dangerous part: it’s easier to go along with the role than to keep insisting that you're a person.
We’ve dressed this identity erasure up in the language of hero worship. We compare mothers to superheroes, call gifted kids perfect, and tell high-achievers how impressive they are.
But the “superhero” narrative is a form of structural abandonment. We’re saying: “Since you’re so incredible and capable, you don’t need our support, our empathy, or our permission to be human. Keep carrying the weight. You’re a superhero, remember?"
We like to appreciate people by building up their ego with compliments. But a high ego is not the same as high confidence; it’s the opposite.
An ego doesn’t tell you to evolve as a person and believe you can do that. It tells you to stay where you are at all costs, because where you are is “good”. It’s a tower made of expectations - the higher it gets, the longer the fall, and the more insecure your footing.
We have a toxic obsession with the idea of sacrificing everything for our children or our careers. We wear our burnout like a badge of honor. But let’s be real: martyrdom is not a gift, it’s a burden.
From behavioral science, we know that children learn almost exclusively through observation. But here's what we miss: adults do too. In fact, it happens more in adulthood because we spend most of our lives on autopilot, passively absorbing the behaviors of those around us rather than actively learning.
You can tell your kids to ”follow their passions” or ”be happy”, but if they see you living a life of quiet resentment and unfulfilled dreams, they won't know how to do that.
If you erase yourself to be a parent or a professional, you are teaching the next generation that life is a series of cages. You’re not giving them a future, you’re warning them to choose their cage wisely.
The people you lead and the children you raise don't need a martyr. They need a model of a human being who is fully alive.
There’s a viral video of an ant who is trapped by a circle drawn around it with a pen. It acts like it’s trapped in a glass jar, desperately seeking an exit from a ”fake” obstacle.
We are like the ant in the circle. We won't cross the line, not because there’s a wall, but because we believe there is. The limitations on your identity - the idea that you can't be a dancer and a CEO, or a present father and a risk-taking entrepreneur - are self-imposed circles.
The biggest lie we tell ourselves while standing at the edge of the circle is: “I’ll step out when I’m ready.”
I’ll reclaim my hobbies when the kids are older. I’ll start the passion project when the business is stable. I’ll be “me” again when life calms down.
But readiness is a myth. You can be ready for the theory of a life, but the reality is only learned through the doing. Everything in this world is figureoutable. But you can’t figure it out from inside the circle.
Today, take a look at the circles you’ve drawn around yourself. Look at the superhero cape you’ve been told to wear.
Remember: everyone around you - your kids, your friends, your colleagues - is learning how to live by watching you. If you stay in the box, they will stay in the box. If you step over the line, you give them permission to do the same.
The line isn’t a wall. It’s just ink.
Step over it.
Rooting for the real you,
Hanna from Pulse
