Time, Motherhood, and the Space Between

Dear Time,

We used to be such good friends. You were steady, predictable, generous. I never questioned our relationship—you were just there, and I could always count on you.

And then I had kids.

Now? Now you’re a shape-shifting trickster, illusive and on occasions my arch nemesis. Some days, you stretch on forever, and other days, you vanish before I even have a chance to notice you were even here (How are my babies already this big?).

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how much our relationship has changed.

Motherhood has made me a little obsessed and somewhat paranoid of you. Every day feels like a tug-of-war between trying to be "present" and trying to be "productive". There’s the pressure to “savor every moment” while also somehow keeping small and big humans alive, nourishing their bodies, and making sure I'm enriching their beautiful young minds.

And yet, no matter how hard I chase you, you refuse to slow down or wait for me. The baby years blur into toddlerhood, toddlerhood into childhood, and before I know it, childhood into the teen years. The piles of laundry, dishes, and random oddities—like rocks, sticks, occasional dried yabby claw—mysteriously regenerate overnight. Life keeps moving, even when it feels like I’m barely hanging on.

It’s exhausting... trying to swim against the current—outrunning the hands of time, resisting life’s natural ebb and flow.

But here’s something I’ve been learning, maybe I don’t need to keep up. Maybe this isn’t a race. Maybe, instead of constantly feeling like I’m behind, I can just... stop running.

What if, instead of fighting you, I learned to move with you? Instead of clinging to you for dear life, I learned to let go and trust? What if I stopped measuring my worth in crossed-off to-do lists? What if I let go of the idea that I need to “make the most” of every moment and instead, just lived in them—messy, imperfect, and real?

What if I gave myself permission to move at my own rhythm?

So here’s the plan. I’m going to stop chasing you like that old ex-boyfriend in high school (We’ll just pretend that phase never happened!).

I’m going to stop letting guilt whisper that I should be doing more, being more, achieving more. Instead, I’m going to trust that my just enough jog is just fine.

Some days will feel slow, some will fly by, and some will be a complete blur of teen grunts, pre-school tantrums, and the daily dance of home life: meals, mess, and endless laundry.

But all of it? It’s mine. It’s real. And it’s enough.

And on the days when I forget all this and find myself spiraling into that old game of trying to “not good enough”? I’ll make a cup of tea (that will probably go cold before I get to drink it) and remind myself: perfection’s boring and overrated—this beautifully unfinished version of life will do just fine.

With deep breaths and possibly more pastries,
Gwen x

P.S. A little journaling moment, if you feel like it:

• How do you see time these days?

  Do you feel like time slips away from you, or do you manage it in a way that feels comfortable and in control?

• If you gave yourself permission to move at your own rhythm, what would that look like? How would it feel?
  Imagine living without the pressure of a packed schedule—what moments of your day would you slow down, and how would your body and mind feel in that space?

• What would it feel like to embrace time as a gift, rather than a burden?

  How could shifting your perspective on time open up space for more joy, ease, and presence in your daily life?

• What’s one small thing you can do tomorrow to step into that rhythm?
  What is one task or habit you can shift or release tomorrow that will give you more breathing room and a sense of flow?
  

(And if the answer is “take a nap” or “ignore the dishes for a while,” I wholeheartedly support your decision.)

Last updated January 2025