I Lost My Creative Side As a Mom. Here’s How I Got It Back.

For years, the question at the office every Monday, as I got coffee, was, “What did you do for fun over the weekend?”

This question made me want to crawl under the table. Not because I didn’t love small talk, but because as a young executive juggling a demanding job, two little kids, and the constant low-grade scramble of just getting through the day, contemplating this question after a long parenting weekend felt like a cruel joke.

I typically responded back with something lame like, “It was really nice, thanks,” and quickly turned the question back to them, which would be 1000% more interesting. Especially because I worked with talented designers, researchers, strategists, and futurists. Over the weekend, they definitely learned how to DJ, planned a trip to Costa Rica, and painted a mural for a local coffee shop.

My honest answer, never spoken out loud, would have been: “I watched my kids grind Play-Doh into the carpet, get into 10 fights, and devour all my berries. It was riveting.” Not exactly the best commentary for an early-morning office icebreaker.

If I’m being honest with myself, I was jealous. I missed having a fun response to the question.

I had artistic dreams

I have always been a creative person, ever since I was a kid with an artistic dream, glitter, and a glue gun. I would spend hours coming up with crafts, ride my bike to get supplies, design them with my friends for days, and eventually sell them on the sidewalk in my neighborhood. That creative spirit continued into my pre-parent life: painting, DIY home repairs, jewelry making, and throwing dinner parties.

Now that I’m in the self-proclaimed “middle motherhood” stage of parenting with more independent elementary- and middle school-aged kids, I have a bit more time on my hands. In this new stage of parenting, I want to be able to answer, “What do you do for fun?” with something unique and creative, honoring the little girl with paint-splattered overalls and big artistic dreams.

I started painting again

A few years ago, I started this quest to infuse more creativity into my life. Starting out small, I pulled out paintbrushes I hadn’t touched in a decade and found an easel on Facebook Marketplace. I set up in my office area, and my background became my painting progress. Being a mom and an executive, I couldn’t paint for hours at once. Instead, my painting sessions were 30 seconds between bathtime or 15 minutes during a lunch break. When I had a moment, I would take a couple of swipes with acrylic paint. Over time, the painting started to reveal itself.

At first, I was nervous about sharing my background art in Zoom meetings. What would my talented designer colleagues say about my mediocre, mom-ish, abstract artwork? But guess what: they loved it! It became a positive topic of conversation on calls. They would catch new strokes, comment on techniques I used, or provide advice when I was stuck.

Making something, even badly, felt like hitting a reset button in my brain. I felt more alive and calm at the same time. So I kept going, aiming for bite-sized creative bursts.

I kept doing creative little things

I took my creativity on the road, packing friendship bracelet supplies for my son’s travel baseball tournaments so my daughter and I could pass the time. Every once in a while, another feral sports sibling would join, and I played camp counselor, showcasing my superior bracelet-making skills.

For a girls’ trip, I brought paint gems — just like paint-by-numbers, but with sticky paper designs like plants and tiny plastic bits that stick to the paper. It’s an absolute joy, especially the ASMR effect of all those plastic pieces clicking into place. And afterward it became a family activity, our dining room table littered with gems.

Emboldened by these small creative steps, I took a leap to start writing again. I wrote to process my feelings about parenting, share my leadership experiences, and put my UW-Madison Journalism degree to good use.

My creative action was taking me to new heights, and I hadn’t realized how much I needed it.

Being creative helps me in ways I hadn’t thought of

I learned that when I give myself even tiny pockets of creative time, I’m more patient. I don’t feel as depleted. It turns out that making something, even if it takes time and isn’t outcome-driven, quietly brings me back to myself and makes me an even more present parent. In my opinion, parents should be doing it more, not less.

For a long time, I treated creativity like a luxury, even though it was part of my day job running a design and innovation studio. Sure, I could do it for clients and colleagues. But for myself, I treated it like something I’d return to when life slowed down.

The thing is, parenthood doesn’t really work that way. It never slows down.