There was a stretch of years when my days were measured in backpacks, appointments, meals, and the constant background noise of someone needing something from me.
Not metaphorically. Literally.
Having kids means the house is rarely quiet in the way people imagine quiet. Even when no one is talking, something is humming, laundry, thoughts, responsibility, the awareness that you are the center pole holding up a very busy tent.
Creativity didn’t disappear during those years.
It just learned how to wait.
The Lie of “Someday I’ll Have Time”
There was a time when I would tell myself that creativity would come later.
Later, when the kids were older.
Later, when life calmed down.
Later, when I could give it the attention it deserved.
That’s a comforting lie when you’re overwhelmed. It makes postponement feel responsible instead of painful.
But the truth is, later is not guaranteed, and even if it arrives, you don’t magically become someone who knows how to claim space for themselves if you never practiced doing it before.
Motherhood didn’t erase my creative drive.
It just buried it under logistics.
What Parenting Teaches You About Endurance
Parenting kids teaches you how to keep going even when you’re tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix.
You learn how to triage. How to prioritize. How to show up even when your inner world is loud and unsettled. You learn how to be present while carrying fear, hope, exhaustion, and love at the same time.
There’s a particular kind of strength that comes from being needed constantly. It sharpens you. It also dulls parts of you if you’re not careful.
I became very good at handling things.
I wasn’t always good at tending myself.
Creativity Didn’t Want More Time, It Wanted Permission
When I finally started making space for creativity again, it didn’t look like long, uninterrupted hours or pristine studio time.
It looked like fragments.
Twenty minutes before the house woke up.
An evening after everyone was fed.
A quiet moment where I chose to stay with an idea instead of collapsing into numbness.
What surprised me was how quickly creativity responded, not with resentment for being neglected, but with relief.
Creativity doesn’t want perfection; it just wants time and space to exist and be played with.
The Guilt No One Warns You About
There’s an unspoken pressure on mothers to justify anything that doesn’t directly benefit their children.
Creative work can feel indulgent in that context. Optional. Selfish, even. Especially when you’re already stretched thin.
I wrestled with that guilt for years.
But here’s what I learned: when I abandoned my creative self completely, I became less patient, less grounded, less present. Not because I was doing something wrong, but because I was denying a part of myself that needed expression.
The thing about creativity is that when you make the time, it allows you to show up whole because you can tend to yourself and fill your own well. For some, that looks like going to the spa or getting a nail treatment, for me its always been art and nature.
Growth Doesn’t Pause Just Because You’re Busy
Personal growth doesn’t wait for ideal conditions.
It happens in kitchens. In cars. In hospital rooms. In quiet moments where you realize you’re outgrowing old expectations, yours and everyone else’s.
As my kids grew, so did I. Not in a straight line, and not without resistance. I had to renegotiate who I was allowed to be beyond “capable mother.”
I had to ask uncomfortable questions:
- What do I want that isn’t about caretaking?
- What parts of me have been on hold too long?
- Who am I becoming now?
Those questions don’t demand immediate answers, but they needed space to marinate and deserved honesty.
The Unexpected Parallel Between Parenting and Making
At some point, I noticed how similar my approach to art and parenting had become.
Both require patience.
Both involve responding instead of controlling.
Both demand that you stay present even when the outcome isn’t clear.
You can’t rush a child into becoming who they are.
You can’t rush a piece of wood into becoming what it wants to be.
You guide. You adjust. You listen.
And you learn to trust that steady attention matters more than force.
How This Shapes the Way I Work Now
My art carries the imprint of a life lived alongside others, not apart from them.
I don’t chase speed. I don’t burn through pieces just to produce more. I work in layers, in seasons, in rhythms that respect the reality of a full life.
That rhythm was forged while raising four kids. It’s practical. It’s grounded. It’s honest.
I create the way I parented: with care, adaptability, and an understanding that progress doesn’t always look dramatic from the outside.
Redefining Balance (Because It’s Not What We’re Told)
Balance isn’t equal time. I like to think of it as a dance of harmony because it comes down to knowing when to lean in and when to step back. It’s recognizing that some seasons require more from you, and making sure you don’t disappear entirely inside them.
I stopped aiming for perfect balance.
I started aiming for sustainability.
Could I keep going this way without burning out?
Could I honor my creative self without abandoning my responsibilities?
Those became the real measures.
A Quiet Invitation
If you’re a parent who feels the pull of creativity but struggles to justify it.
If you’ve postponed parts of yourself because everyone else needed you first.
If you’re learning how to grow without leaving your life behind.
This might be for you.
Not as permission from anyone else.
But as a reminder that you’re allowed to exist as more than what you provide.
Closing
Raising kids didn’t dilute my creativity.
It tempered it.
It taught me patience, restraint, and how to build something meaningful in the margins of real life. And that kind of growth, earned, imperfect, deeply human, is the kind that lasts.
I didn’t choose between motherhood and creativity.
I learned how to carry fire while holding both.
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