Finding my way back to writing while balancing motherhood, work and mental exhaustion, and learning to make space for myself in this chapter of life.
Lately, I’ve been feeling mentally exhausted. Keeping up with a toddler is something I don’t think I could have ever fully prepared myself for. I love this stage and I’m genuinely trying to enjoy these moments with him because I know how quickly they will pass, but that doesn’t change the fact that some days, by the time everything slows down, I feel like my mind has nothing left to give.
Then there’s work, home, family, friends and all the little things that need to be remembered or done. Somewhere in the back of my mind, though, I keep thinking about writing and how much I want to get back to it.
Writing has always given me a sense of calm and balance. It’s somewhere I can put all the thoughts that otherwise seem to circle around in my head, and getting those thoughts onto a page has always helped quieten my mind and release some of the pressure I’ve been carrying around.
Which is why I’ve found the last few weeks strange. It hasn’t actually been that long since I last wrote, but for me it feels longer because usually there’s another idea waiting, something sitting in my drafts or at least a thought about what I want to write next. This time I have plenty to say, but for some reason I just can’t seem to start.
I think part of it is that by the time I actually have a moment to myself, I don’t want to think anymore. My job is creative and very hands-on, which I love, but so much of my day is also spent problem-solving. I’m constantly looking at something, figuring out what isn’t working, moving things around in my head and trying to find a better solution.
Then I come home and there’s an adventurous toddler to keep up with, a home to run and all the usual things that come with everyday life. So when everything finally goes quiet, sometimes the last thing my brain wants is another thought to work through.
Sometimes it wants a corny rom-com that requires absolutely nothing from me or, if I’m being completely truthful, mindlessly scrolling through my phone for far longer than I intended. Not because those things necessarily make me feel better in the way writing does, but because they don’t ask anything of me. I don’t have to create, problem-solve or find the right words; for a little while, I can just switch off.
And I think that’s the part I hadn’t really understood until recently. I haven’t run out of things to say and I haven’t stopped wanting to write; I’m just mentally tired. Somehow, when the thing that normally helps quieten my mind requires me to use the same mind that already feels exhausted, it becomes easier to keep putting it off.
Honestly, I think the hardest part is finding the right time, but I’m starting to realise there probably is no “right time”. It’s about finding a way to build writing back into my routine and working out what fits into my life now, and that’s the part that isn’t coming easily to me.
I keep looking for a night when I’m not tired or a time when I’m not already mentally exhausted, but lately those moments are harder to find. I think back to when my son was younger and I could sit down and write and write. Life looked different then; he needed me in a different way, and work wasn’t as crazy or demanding as it is now.
This chapter is different. My son is now an adventurous toddler who keeps me constantly on my toes, my job has grown and I’ve taken on more responsibility, and I’m trying to be more present with my family and friends while also wanting to find some time that is just for me. I’m beginning to realise I don’t need to get back to exactly where I was before because my life isn’t where it was before.
I think part of what has made this harder is comparing what I can do now to what I could do before. I know I can make time for writing because I’ve done it before. I’ve stayed up late writing when something was on my mind, had posts ready to go and ideas waiting for the next one, so when I struggle to do that now there’s a part of me that wonders why I can’t just make it work.
But I’m comparing two completely different chapters of my life. I have more on my plate now, my time looks different, my energy looks different and the people around me need different things from me. That doesn’t mean the things I want for myself no longer matter; I think it just means I need to stop expecting them to fit into the same spaces they used to.
Maybe that’s something we all do without realising it. We look back at a time when we exercised more, saw our friends more, read more, created more or simply had more time for ourselves and wonder why we can’t seem to get back there. We remember how easily something once fitted into our lives without really considering how different our lives might be now.
For me, it’s writing, but maybe for you it’s something completely different. Maybe there’s something you used to love doing that has slowly been pushed further down the list, not because you stopped loving it or because it stopped being important to you, but simply because life changed and you changed with it.
Maybe instead of asking ourselves how we get back to who we were or how we used to do things, we need to ask how we make space for those things in the lives we have now. I don’t completely know the answer to that yet, and I’m still trying to work out what that looks like for me.
Maybe I won’t write as often as I used to. Maybe I need to stop waiting for the perfect quiet night and learn to take the moments when they come. There will probably still be nights when the corny rom-com or mindless scrolling wins over opening my laptop, and I think I’m okay with that too.
Just like everything else in life, I need to adapt and find what works for me now. That sounds simple when I write it down, but I don’t think it is. Finding space for yourself amongst everything and everyone you care about can be hard, and maybe it’s something I’ll continue figuring out as this chapter changes too.
I don’t know if writing this means I’ve found my rhythm again, but I do know I’ve started. Maybe finding my way back to writing isn’t really about going back at all; maybe it’s about finding a new way forward that fits the life I have now.
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