Motherhood, Creativity, and the Space for Both

I have carried a small journal with me since I was a teenager. The notes inside are sometimes practical—grocery lists, to-dos—but many of the pages are filled with abstract thoughts, poetry, song lyrics, or snippets of stories that eventually sputtered out and now hover somewhere in the upper atmosphere of my mind.

That journal represents my ability to leave this plane, so to speak, and travel into the inner world of my imagination. Since giving birth, not only has it ceased to be the first thing I reach for in my bag—replaced by pacifiers, small toys, and other baby necessities—but that inner world misses me, and I miss it.

When I became a stepmother, I got a small taste of this shift. The kids were eight, eleven, and fourteen, and while they needed far less constant supervision than an infant, they still required a significant portion of my time when they were with us.

The baby, though, turned my world completely upside down. The door to that other world became hidden behind boxes of toys, strollers, a crib, a flight of treacherous stairs, and a flood of thoughts hijacked by a tiny, soft, squirming person who needed me. Fair and square.

I thought, I can write while she plays.

No. She wants to type too—and not on the old, dead laptop. On mine. The one with lights and funny shapes that appear when I push buttons.

I thought, I can write while she eats.

Nope. She frequently gags on solid food (and, mystifyingly, liquid), and concentrating on anything else is impossible.

I can write while she sleeps.

Yes. This is when the spurts happen—when I push the debris aside and throw open that ancient door. The meadow is waiting for me. There is a floating window in the sky that I cannot quite reach.

But time is limited, and I don’t know how much of it I’ll be given. Sometimes, while teething, she sleeps for only twenty-five minutes. This seems cruel, but it isn’t—and before I go any further, let me be clear.

Before I had children, my inner world was marvelous. The meadow was quiet and lovely. The sea beyond followed a steady rhythm. My fortress was comfortable and safe.

Since having children, that place has exploded. The window appeared in the sky, for one. The flowers bloomed all at once, and the quiet was replaced by laughter, baby babbling, and the sound of my older kids telling bad jokes because they know I love them. The sea is bright blue now. There are more storms—but they are the reason the flowers bloom. Pollinators abound. Fillies play freely as they graze.

My fortress is warm, a little messy, and things appear when I need them.

Motherhood enriched my inner world, even if I now have less time to wander it aimlessly. When my daughter takes a twenty-five-minute nap and I barely have time to write a paragraph or finish my coffee, it means I also get to see her, hold her, and watch her grow.

There is no resentment—only the challenge of staying consistent in the chaos.

Your imagination does not die when you have children. But it is up to you to dig for that door and open it. You only have to let it be just as important as the dishes, the laundry, and every other ritual that makes up the small, enchanted world of your home.

I’ll share my routine—not as a prescription, only as an example. I’m a morning person, but you may not be. You might be a night owl, and if so, hear this: carve out time for yourself when it works for you.

My daughter wakes around six or six-thirty each morning and naps by nine. This is when I make coffee, eat something, and sit down to write. This is Nap One. It’s where I built Joy Realm, began book two of The Omulus series, and submitted poetry.

Nap Two is usually when I clean, nap, or become a snacking vegetable.

The rule is that there is no rule—which is the only reason this works. I stick to it about eighty-five percent of the time. The other fifteen percent, I remind myself to relax, enjoy, and return to it tomorrow.

Motherhood throws wrenches into the cogs of your creative life, especially if you came to it later. After all, I spent many years doing exactly what I wanted, when I wanted. But the truth is this: children will tear down the walls you built around your imagination. They will plant mysteries, brighten colors, and introduce deeper magic.

Take a deep breath and repeat after me:

I will prioritize my imagination.

I will visit my inner world, even if only for twenty-five minutes.

You’re already on your way. Just by reading this, you’ve stepped into a community that is supportive, confident, and capable.

And we have snacks.

I love that you’re here, because I, too, need to be surrounded by women who are rising to this challenge. This is what Joy Realm is for.

It is a place for mothers who know there is more inside them – more color, more imagination, more life – and who are willing to show up for it in small, imperfect ways. You don’t need hours. You don’t need permission.

You just need a door, a little courage, and maybe twenty-five minutes.