Motherhood Didn’t Kill Your Creativity—It Changed It

Women are creative. All of us. We are creators by nature.

When I first became a mom, one of the most surprising parts of that transition was how my creativity began to change shape. Before motherhood, I had more control over my time. If I entered a creative flow—blogging, building a yoga sequence, working on a project—I could usually stay there uninterrupted.

Then I had a baby.

Nap times were unpredictable. Wake windows were short. My baby needed to eat, to be held, to be soothed. I’d find a pocket of time, make my tea, get cozy on the couch with my computer, settle into the moment… and suddenly my baby would wake up. Just like that, my creative time was gone. And the mental task-switching was hard.

Before motherhood, I worked in chunks of time. I could create routines, follow schedules, change them when I wanted. After becoming a mom, that rhythm disappeared—and it was a shock to my system, to my creative flow, and to my soul.

Then I had my second baby.

I thought I had things figured out. Instead, I found myself needed by two little people in completely different ways at the same time. It felt like another layer of my creativity got chipped away. Slowly, it felt buried under the weight of responsibility and the demands of early motherhood.

Then came baby number three.

You might think creativity would be completely gone by then. But something shifted. I realized something important:

Motherhood doesn’t end creativity—it changes what it looks like.

If you’re in early motherhood and feeling like you’re losing pieces of yourself… feeling buried under responsibility… feeling like creativity is something you’ll get back to “someday”… I want you to know that isn’t true.

What is true is that it won’t look the same as it did before. And that’s okay. In many ways, it’s even more beautiful.

What happens to a creative person when they become a mom? (And I would argue we’re all creative, some just practice it more than others.)

The first word that comes to mind is fragmentation.

Your time fragments. Your attention fragments. Your emotional, physical, and mental energy fragments. Motherhood splits you into pieces—starting with birth itself. You are physically opened to bring new life into the world, and from there, fragmentation continues emotionally, mentally, and creatively.

Time becomes something you experience differently. In the early years, you think in wake windows: 30 minutes, 45 minutes, an hour, then two. You start asking, What can I do during this nap? What can I do in this window?

Your mind begins to compartmentalize—not just your needs, but the needs of your child, and then your children in relation to one another. You are expanded, but that expansion comes with cracks. And those cracks can feel painful, especially in the beginning.

Over time, though, something transformative happens. Your heart expands. Your capacity grows. Life begins to whittle away what’s unnecessary. Time becomes precious instead of endless. You learn to use it intentionally.

And with practice, you get better at it.

One thing I want to gently encourage is this: knowing what to do with small pockets of time can feel paralyzing. Especially if you’re building something outside of caregiving.

And let me say this clearly: if staying home with your children is all you can manage right now, that is enough. Caretaking is full-time work. There is no need to add more.

But if you feel a pull—toward crocheting, floral arranging, writing, starting something small, or contributing financially in a way that uses your mind—I encourage you to listen to that call.

Trust yourself. You are doing the right thing for your family.

One of the greatest gifts we can give our children is our own aliveness.

In this season, nourishment may come in very small fragments of time. Not long routines. Not four uninterrupted hours. Not writing a book in one sitting. But small acts of creation.

This brings me to my first piece of advice:

What can you create instead of consume?

Sometimes rest looks like reading or watching a show, and that’s okay. But where can you create? Where can you give life to the ideas stirring in your heart? Write a few sentences. Sketch. Send a letter instead of liking a post. Nourish real relationships. Nourish yourself.

This creation will likely be fragmented. You may not finish before your baby needs you—and that’s okay. You will get better at task-switching. Take a breath. Set it aside. It will still be there.

There is also a way to create alongside your children.

As they grow, invite yourself into the creativity you’re already offering them. Sit at the table together. Pull out your sketchbook while they paint. Write while they draw. They love seeing what you’re making. They learn from it. They’re inspired by it.

Join in!

Another truth of motherhood is this constant shedding and evolving of identity.

It’s easy to grieve who you were before becoming a mom. That grief is real and valid. Motherhood changes you biologically, chemically, spiritually. But you are not less than who you were before. You are actually much more.

Over the past five and a half years, I’ve shed many versions of myself: corporate work, remote jobs, business models, offerings, expectations. At times I’ve wondered why I couldn’t just be consistent.

Now I see it clearly, I wasn’t failing. I was shedding and evolving.

What worked before doesn’t always work now. New children demand new rhythms. And that process of shedding and adapting is not something to fight—it’s something to embrace.

We welcome new versions of our children every day. Why not welcome new versions of ourselves?

Your motherhood experience is your child’s childhood. Co-create it with them. Show them a full human being, one who feels deeply, creates imperfectly, and nurtures her soul.

Now I want to speak to the mom who feels a bigger calling to build something meaningful, to share a message, to create a business.

Motherhood is my first calling. But there is another one too and I’m still walking toward it.

There’s a disconnect between traditional business advice and slow, intentional motherhood. Between daily output and living offline. Between scaling fast and being present.

The bridge between these worlds exists, but it’s long and slow.

Building in motherhood is fragmented. It looks different than what the internet celebrates. It’s one step forward, two steps back. It’s seasons of sharing and seasons of quiet.

And that’s still movement.

I’ve changed my business many times. I’ve paused. I’ve shifted. But I’ve kept moving forward—through babies, homeschooling, life.

So here is my final encouragement:

Keep moving forward at your pace.

Not the internet’s pace. Not a course creator’s pace. Yours.

If the message is true, monetization will come. In early motherhood, it may come differently. But your creativity matters. Your voice matters.

So if you’re in the thick of it right now please understand there is still space for you to come alive.

Children are not a hindrance to creativity. They are a catalyst.

Your container is growing. You have something valuable to share.

And I’d love to hear about it! If you’re building something or have an idea in your heart, share a comment.

And as always, keep building what you’re building from a place of love.