You are talking to another woman who has been there: those long nights and the mountain of clothes and the quiet question that keeps showing up: where did the person who painted on Sundays go? The one who ran 5km for the pure ridiculous thrill of it? The one who could sink into a novel and not watch the clock? She didn’t vanish. She’s underneath the diaper bag, slightly smudged, breathing, probably asking for a little coffee.
Exhibit A: the guitar in the closet
We all have one. A guitar, a sketchbook with the corner turned down, a sewing machine with a thread still caught in its bobbin, a half-built puzzle. It’s not gone because you stopped loving it. It’s just collecting dust because a newborn uses every bit of attention like a sponge. Don’t let the silence in the corner feel like a judgment. The thing is patiently waiting. It doesn’t demand a whole morning. Ten minutes will do. You’ll be surprised how much that matters, even if ten minutes sounds silly right now.
The myth of losing your hobbies as a new mum
There’s a quiet story passed around without a stamp of approval: good mothers must shelve themselves indefinitely, that anything you do for you is stolen time. That’s a lie dressed up in worry. When you keep living a life that includes things you love even in tiny, fractured pieces, you’re not stealing. You’re teaching. Kids watch more than they listen. They’ll see you paint or lace up shoes or read, and they’ll learn mothers have inner lives. It changes the room they grow in. It changes you, too, in ways you won’t notice until later, when you catch yourself smiling at something small and thinking, oh right.
A field guide to bringing hobbies back, in newborn-sized portions
The 10-minute rule. Shrink time. Ten minutes with a pencil while the baby naps on your chest or a quick page of a book during a feed. Small doses count.
They’re different, not lesser.
💜Keep one thing within reach. A book on the nightstand. Knitting needles in a basket by the sofa. Put the prop where you pass more than once a day. It’s lazy, but it works.
💜Trade, don’t pile. Swap fifteen minutes of scrolling before bed for fifteen minutes with your sketchbook or your shoes on, you already waste that fifteen, so redirect it. No pressure, just reroute.
💜Tag-team hour. If someone can watch the baby for one deliberate hour a week, take it. Not for errands. For you. Trade off if you need to, keep it regular, and guard it like a sacred, small thing.
💜Check who you are now. Ask once in a while: what did I love before “mom” sat on top of everything? That question isn’t there to make you guilty. It’s a thread. Pull it just enough to feel connected, then let go if it gets messy.
Plot twist
Sometimes what used to fit doesn’t anymore. Running might be replaced by slow stroller walks with a podcast and that becomes its own small joy. Painting could shrink into doodling on your phone during a 2 a.m. feed, which is weirdly satisfying. That’s not losing the old you. It’s the old you changing shape because everything about this season is in motion. Hold both loosely: the things you miss and the new things that show up. They don’t have to compete. They can breathe next to each other, even if that sounds easier than it is.
Your hobbies are not gone
You don’t have to become the person you were before the baby arrived. Some parts of you will come back exactly as they were, and others will return looking completely different. That’s okay. This season isn’t about finding your way back to an old version of yourself; it’s about making room for every part of who you are now.
So dust off the guitar. Open the sketchbook. Read a page of that book. Take the walk. Not because you have something to prove, but because the person who loved those things is still here. Motherhood may have changed your days, but it doesn’t have to erase the rest of who you are.
Read more at: firsttimemomsacademy.com
