The Day I Remembered Who I Was Before Motherhood
At a school fundraiser, someone asked what I did for fun. I laughed automatically, then realized I had no answer. On the drive home, that harmless question stayed with me. I knew exactly what made everyone else in my family light up, but I had misplaced that knowledge about myself. I had no answer. I could list my children’s hobbies, favourite books and weekly activities. But the last thing I had chosen just because it made me feel alive? Blank. Before motherhood, I painted little watercolours. Nothing impressive. Nothing monetized. That was the point. The paints slowly moved from my desk to a cupboard, then behind the school supplies. I kept saying I’d return when life became less busy. Spoiler: less busy never arrived. So I claimed twenty minutes on Wednesday nights. The first painting was awkward. The second stayed unfinished. But something in me switched back on. I wasn’t abandoning my family. I was letting them know a fuller version of me—the woman who could learn, make a mess and enjoy something without turning it into a side hustle. Eventually, my daughter brought her own paper and sat beside me. We created together without me organizing an “activity” for her. Mothers’ interests are often the first thing removed from the calendar and the last thing restored. Mine now gets a real appointment. It can move, but it doesn’t automatically disappear. A hobby does not need to be useful, profitable or post-worthy. It can simply remind you that you are still becoming someone too. Choose the smallest version of something you miss: one page, one song, one walk, one class. The first time I opened my paints again, I felt almost foolish—and then unexpectedly emotional. A small part of me I thought was gone had simply been waiting to be invited back. What did you love doing before everyone needed something from you?
