Hey Parents, It’s Okay You’re Not Writing
How giving myself permission to not write got me writing again
When I became a mom, I found myself constantly searching for three things: reassurance, baby socks, and pacifiers. Seriously people, where do these things go?! Before I had my daughter, I had no illusions about motherhood. I figured it wouldn’t be easy, I knew better than to expect myself to love every second of it, but as it turned out, I knew jack s***. I had zero clue of just how exhausting, overwhelming, stressful, and beautiful caring for a tiny red potato (with an impressive head of hair) could be.
The first few months were rough, and I mean rough. I was so sleep-deprived, overstimulated, and burnt out on constantly being needed that I felt like I was actually losing my mind. I was desperate for some encouragement, some reassurance that I wasn’t alone. Was I the only parent who wouldn’t trade my child for all the sleep in the world, but also wouldn’t be mad if she didn’t scream every time I put her down and napped longer than 30 minutes at a time? Thankfully, I’ve since discovered that I am definitely not alone in that regard.
But what I wanted even more than for someone to reassure me I’m still a good mom if I don’t love being perpetually fatigued or if I let my daughter watch more than three minutes of CoComelon per day, was for someone — preferably another parent who writes — to tell me it was okay that I wasn’t writing. Just like how I told myself I wasn’t going to nail motherhood right away, I gave myself pep talks during my third trimester about my one and only creative outlet, that it would be okay if I had to go on maternity leave from that, too. And just like how I underestimated the butt-kicking I’d get from mom life, I was not prepared for the regular beatings I got from what I call “writer’s guilt.” No amount of pep or prep could protect me from that.
About eight months after my daughter was born, we moved back to my hometown to be closer to family, and my husband found a new job that allowed him to be home on the weekends. I thought, yes! Finally, I could get back into my writing groove again. A few weekends into my husband’s new job went by, and guess what I still wasn’t doing. Why? Why wasn’t I taking advantage of my newfound free time? Why hadn’t I submitted anything to Medium yet? My exhausted brain could not figure out why I wasn’t doing what I enjoyed most.
At the time, my answer was laziness. If you’re a writer, you know exactly what I’m talking about, how nothing can make you feel more unproductive than a blank page. Writing has always been it for me, nothing else held my interest growing up, and I think that partly fueled my writer’s guilt. Like mom guilt, it makes no sense and is absolutely ruthless. I could be in the middle of a conference call, changing a diaper (sometimes both at the same time), at a pediatrician appointment, sweeping soggy Cheerios off the floor, painting over the god-awful blue walls the previous owners left behind, or even brushing my damn teeth and be thinking, why am I not writing?
It took me a lot of time to find the answer to that question. If you’re also a parent who writes and is being harassed by the same guilt, then maybe these three words will set you free as well. Here they are:
I’m f***ing busy.
This obviously profound conclusion didn’t come to me through yoga or psychedelics. It didn’t even occur to me when I was rolling paint on the walls at 10 o’clock at night. Nope, I found the solution to my merciless writer’s guilt through the simple art of honesty. I can’t say for sure when I realized how unfair I was being with myself, but once I did, everything changed. Once I let myself accept that “writer” was not my only role anymore, that I was a busy, full-time mom who worked from home with a life to maintain…I started writing again.
I still don’t fully understand it, but being honest with myself, giving myself the grace so many parents deny themselves is what lifted the self-inflicted pressure from my shoulders. Once I banished the unfair standards I was holding myself to, the urge to write returned, and so did enough brain power to figure out a plan. Using more of that good ol’ honesty, I knew that squeezing in time to write during my work week just wasn’t realistic, so I decided to dedicate weekends to my writing like I originally wanted. Whether I wrote for two hours or even 20 minutes throughout the whole weekend, I wrote. Even if I had to wait until after our daughter’s bedtime or stop to help my husband look for another lost pacifier (we still haven’t found it), I returned to my desk and kept writing.
So if you’re a new parent who is wondering when you’ll write again, or a not-so-new parent who’s still struggling to fit writing–or any creative outlet–into your schedule, I’m here to tell you what I was desperate for someone to tell me: it’s okay. It’s okay if you’re not doing it right now or not as much as you’d like to be. Like every parent on this planet, you’re busy, and that is okay. Sometimes it’s society, and sometimes it’s us putting this ridiculous pressure on ourselves to keep up without missing a beat. From one parent who writes to another, cut yourself the slack you deserve and you will start writing again. I stopped setting unrealistic standards for myself, and now I write more than I ever did before I was a mom. Be kind to yourself, be honest with yourself, and you will find your groove again. I can’t say the same about the pacifiers or the socks though.
