On Birthing a Child and a Book
When my son, Micah James, was born in January 2021, I instantly knew I couldn’t go back to my corporate job. I worked as a senior writer at a wonderful company in Nashville, but as much as I loved my job and my coworkers, I just couldn’t fathom the idea of leaving my tiny baby five days a week for nine hours a day. Thankfully, my team was uber supportive in my decision to become a stay-at-home mom so there was no guilt in the “quitting.”
Armed with my copywriting experience, I knew I could do a little freelance work on the side to keep my skills sharp, so that’s what I did. I took on new clients and helped former ones. It was fun for a few months—I loved earning an income and found joy in being able to work “just a little” while still being present for my son.
I thought everything was going swimmingly until my husband asked me one night, “So when are you going to write that book you’ve always wanted to write?”
I looked off into the distance and then responded, “I don’t know . . . Micah’s nap times are currently full with my freelance work, so when else could I work on it?”
And that’s when he said something that completely changed the trajectory of my year . . . and life . . . he asked, “Why don’t you start writing for yourself instead of spending all your time writing for other people?”
You guys . . . can we just stop and appreciate all the supportive spouses out there who consistently open eyes and minds to see a bigger and better future for the people they love the most? That’s what my husband consistently does for me, and I’m endlessly grateful for it.
That summer, I decided he was absolutely right. While I loved serving my copywriting clients, I knew that nothing would be more fulfilling (and fun) than pursuing something I’ve always dreamed of doing: writing a book. Little by little, I let my clients know my availability was changing and that I wouldn’t be available until the end of the year, potentially longer, due to a “personal project” I was pursuing.
Writing a novel and learning to parent all in the same year is no easy feat. I worked on my novel through sleep regressions, short naps, mom guilt (because no one is safe), nursing, weaning, ALL. THE. THINGS. I had a goal of writing 2,000 words a day. Some days I wrote more than that and other days I wrote 0 because mama desperately needed to nap while the baby napped. And that’s okay because a few months later, I still “finished.”
I write “finished” in quotes because, let’s be real, you never finish working on your novel until it goes to print. There were many, many revisions, tweaks, and even a couple of complete rewrites. But isn’t the same true with becoming a parent? I had no stinking clue what I was doing that first year (I still question if I’m doing this whole parenting thing right) just like I had no stinking clue what I was doing when I started working on my book.
But there were a few things I did have:
Books—lots of them. Books that told me what to do, when to do them, and signs to look for to make sure I was on the right track. Aren’t you grateful for non-fiction books?! I know I am.
Friends—from different circles and life seasons. For my writing, I went to my writer’s group (a tight-knit group of women who are all pursuing a publishing dream) countless times for advice, feedback, and encouragement. I also had online communities like hope*writers. For parenting, I went to friends with kids of similar ages (for mutual encouragement and commiseration) and friends with much older kids who could tell me everything would be okay.
A partner—my husband. This guy deserves so much credit. He’s 100% the biggest reason I was able to finish my book. Not only does he sacrificially provide for our family so that I can focus on Micah and my book, but he was always ready to lift my spirits and turn my self-doubt into confidence.
Becoming a mother and an author all in one year is hard work, but it’s good work. Both experiences have taught me to be patient with myself, to trust in the abilities and gifts God has given me, and to ask for help EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I’m so grateful I experienced both in the same year . . . birthing both a child and a book.
