Confession #730: A lump of clay never judged me when I made a mistake. I could always start over—unlike the laundry pile that only grew after maternity leave.

And look, I wouldn’t trade this season of life for anything. The sleepy cuddles, the tiny hands reaching for mine, the way they say words slightly wrong in a way that makes my heart melt—that is the good stuff. The best stuff. But the rest? The endless life admin, the snack negotiations, the feeling of being needed all the time? It’s a lot. And I’ve learned that needing space for myself doesn’t make me love my little one any less. In fact, it makes me love them better.

Losing (and Finding) Yourself in Motherhood

Before becoming a mum, I had a vision of how I’d balance it all. I imagined myself effortlessly gliding through work, creative passions, and motherhood like some sort of wise, Pinterest-worthy woman who always remembered permission slips and never let the washing pile up. Reality check? That was not how it went. Instead, I found myself reheating the same cup of tea four times, forgetting why I walked into rooms, and wondering if I’d ever feel fully like me again.

Matrescence—the word for the transition into motherhood—isn’t just about adding a new role to your life. It changes everything. Who you are. How you see yourself. How you move through the world. And somewhere between daycare drop-offs and the 17th load of laundry, I realised I was so busy looking after everyone else that I’d put my own creativity on pause.

That’s when I turned back to clay.

The Quiet Therapy of Clay

Pottery became my way of coming home to myself. Unlike a toddler, it doesn’t demand snacks or burst into the bathroom for an urgent conversation about dinosaurs. It just waits—soft, pliable, full of possibility. Sitting at my workbench, pressing my hands into cool clay, I felt something shift. I wasn’t just making pottery; I was making space for me.

And the thing about clay is, it doesn’t rush. You have to meet it where it is. Work with it. Be patient. Sound familiar? If there’s one thing motherhood has taught me, it’s that some of the most beautiful things in life take time. Some days, the clay collapses. Some days, you have to start over. Some days, the only thing you create is a mess. But in the end, something beautiful takes shape.

Small Acts of Creativity (That Don’t Involve Cleaning Up Glitter)

I know what you’re thinking—“That sounds nice, but I barely have time to drink a hot cup of tea.” I get it. Life is full. But creativity doesn’t have to be another thing on your to-do list. It can be small, woven into your day like a quiet act of self-care.

Here are a few ways to sneak it in:

Morning Mug Ritual – Start your day with a favourite handmade mug. Feel the weight of it, the warmth, the way it fits in your hands. A tiny, tactile moment just for you.

Five-Minute Doodles – Keep a notebook handy and sketch while your little one is busy rearranging all the Tupperware.

Get Hands-On – Join a pottery class (Fire Up Fridays, anyone?) and give yourself permission to play with clay. No pressure, no perfection—just joy.

Slow Down – Light a candle, listen to a favourite song, scribble down thoughts or ideas. Creativity doesn’t have to be big. It just has to be yours.

Permission to Take Up Space

I adore being a parent. I adore my child. But I also adore having time to be me. And I’m learning that those things don’t have to be in competition. Needing space for yourself doesn’t mean you’re any less loving, devoted, or grateful. It just means you’re human.

So here’s your permission slip (not that you need one) to take up space. To make something just because it makes you happy. To claim a little pocket of time that’s yours.

For me, that’s pottery. For you, it might be something else. But whatever it is, make space for it. Because when we take care of ourselves, we show up better for the people we love.

If you’re ready to get your hands dirty (in a way that doesn’t involve wiping Vegemite off the walls), come and join me for Fire Up Fridays. Let’s create, connect, and carve out space for the person we still are—beyond the to-do lists.

Until next time,
Your friendly homebody potter from Murrumbateman.