There was a time when I believed that finding myself again meant going back to who I was before I became a mom.

I missed the version of me who had hobbies without guilt.
Who could finish a cup of coffee while it was still hot.
Who could sit in silence without wondering what needed to be cleaned, folded, or remembered.

Maybe you’ve felt that too.

Motherhood has a beautiful way of changing us.

But somewhere between caring for everyone else, we often stop asking ourselves one simple question.

How am I doing?

Not as a mother.

Not as a wife.

Not as the one who keeps the household running.

Just…

How am I?

For a long time, I thought “finding myself again” meant becoming the woman I was before children.

Now I think it means something different.

Maybe we were never meant to go backward.

Maybe motherhood wasn’t the end of who we were.

Maybe it was the beginning of someone new.

The woman I’m becoming still loves slow mornings.

She still feels most at peace with a warm mug in her hands and music playing softly in the background.

She still dreams.

She still creates.

She still deserves rest.

She just carries more now.

I’ve realized that coming home to myself doesn’t happen during a weekend getaway or after everything on my to-do list is finished.

It happens in ordinary moments.

Five quiet minutes before the house wakes up.

Putting on pajamas that make me feel comfortable instead of simply grabbing whatever is clean.

Listening to a favorite song while I make breakfast.

Lighting a candle after everyone goes to bed.

Sitting with my thoughts instead of reaching for my phone.

These moments don’t make motherhood easier.

But they remind me that I still exist within it.

Maybe that’s what coming home to yourself really looks like.

Not escaping motherhood.

But finding pieces of yourself inside it.

So if you’ve been feeling a little lost lately…

This is your reminder.

You don’t have to become the woman you were before.

You only have to keep making space for the woman you’re becoming.

One quiet moment at a time.

xo, christina

✿ A Gentle Reminder for Today

Instead of asking yourself…

“Did I get everything done today?”

Try asking…

• Did I drink enough water?
• Did I take one deep breath today?
• Did I smile?
• Did I rest, even for five minutes?
• Did I speak to myself with kindness?
• What made me feel like me today?

Sometimes those are the questions that matter most.

✿ Free Printable

Coming home to yourself checklist download

More time.
More energy.
An office outside of the home.
A quieter house.

But motherhood has taught me something different.

Sometimes creativity begins with one small corner.

This little space has slowly become my favorite place in our home. It's where I sit to write blog posts, sketch new illustrations, organize ideas, and dream about everything I hope I Am Christina XO will become one day.

It's not a perfectly styled studio.

Most days there are toys scattered across the floor, dishes waiting in the sink, and a toddler calling for me from the next room.

But this corner reminds me that I don't have to wait for the perfect season to create.

I can create right here.

The Inspiration Board

If there's one thing people notice first, it's the board above my desk.

Ironically, it hasn't changed much.

I put it together back in the spring, and for the most part, it's stayed exactly the way it is.

Every now and then I'll pin up a photograph while I'm working on a new blog post or illustration. I'll let it live there for a little while, and then I'll take it down again.

But the heart of the board never really changes.

I've thought about taking everything off and starting over.

I never do.

Because every time I look at it, it still feels like me.

The handwritten notes, the soft textures, the flowers, the photographs—they're reminders of the kind of life I'm trying to create. Not a perfect life, but a slower one. A creative one. A home filled with beauty in ordinary moments.

I don't keep this board because I need constant inspiration.

I keep it because sometimes I need a place that quietly reminds me who I am.

A Calm Workspace

I've realized that my surroundings affect the way I create.

Soft textures.

Neutral colors.

Natural light.

Candles.

Fresh notebooks.

Simple tools.

None of these things make me more talented.

But they make this space feel welcoming.

Instead of sitting down because I have to work, I sit down because I genuinely want to spend time here.

For me, that's made all the difference.

More Than a Desk

When people see this little corner, they probably see a desk.

I see something else.

I see the place where blog posts begin.

Where illustrations start as tiny ideas.

Where Pinterest graphics come together.

Where dreams become plans.

Where ordinary afternoons slowly become memories.

This space has witnessed seasons of motherhood, days when creativity flowed easily, and days when I wondered if I'd ever feel creative again.

It's been there through both.

Creating During Motherhood

One of the biggest lessons motherhood has taught me is that creativity doesn't disappear.

It changes.

I don't have long stretches of uninterrupted time anymore.

Most days, I create during Liam's quiet time while he happily plays in the living room. Every so often, he'll wander over to see what I'm working on before running back to his toys.

My iced coffee usually sits beside me long enough for the ice to melt.

The laundry waits in baskets a little longer than I planned.

Sometimes the clean clothes stay folded on the couch.

Sometimes they never get folded at all.

There are days when I choose to spend an hour writing or sketching instead, and before I know it, the baskets have turned into little mountains.

Years ago, that probably would have made me feel guilty.

Now I'm learning that making space for creativity isn't taking something away from my family.

It's taking care of a part of myself that deserves attention too.

The laundry will get folded.

The coffee will get watered down.

But the ideas don't always wait.

So when they come, I'm learning to welcome them.

Why This Corner Matters

This isn't about having a beautiful home office.

It's about creating a place that invites me back to myself.

A place that reminds me I am more than the never-ending to-do lists.

I'm still curious.

I'm still creative.

I'm still becoming.

Every photograph, sketch, handwritten note, and flower pinned to this board is a quiet reminder that growth often happens slowly.

One idea.

One drawing.

One blog post.

One ordinary day at a time.

Thank you for taking a little look inside my creative corner.

I hope it reminds you that you don't need an entire studio to begin creating.

Sometimes all you need is one small space that feels like home.

Today, I sat at the dining table writing while my son cried in his room.

I don't even know why he was crying anymore. Maybe he was frustrated. Maybe he was tired. Maybe I was too.

I sat there because I needed a moment—a small pause before I let one hard moment turn into a hard day.

Motherhood can feel like that sometimes.

You're plugging on. Holding on. Trying.

Trying to keep everyone fed. Trying to stick to schedules. Trying to manage tantrums and emotions—your child's and your own. Trying not to lose control when it feels like the day already has.

We make plans and routines because we're trying to create some sense of order, but life with children isn't something we can control completely.

Maybe we're not trying to control life.

Maybe we're just trying to make it through the day.

People often say, "You can't pour from an empty cup."

And yet, mothers do it every day.

We pour into our children, our partners, our homes, and our endless lists of things that need to be remembered and done. We schedule appointments, plan meals, wash clothes, clean kitchens, soothe big feelings, and carry the invisible work of holding a family together.

Then somewhere along the way, we're expected to take care of ourselves too.

Sometimes self-care feels like another task on the list—a task we rarely get to.

If I'm honest, I hardly do it.

Most days, I don't get dressed. My hair stays undone. I put myself last because it feels easier than trying to fit one more thing into an already full day.

No one is asking me to disappear, but somewhere between being a good mom and a good wife, I've forgotten how to show up for myself.

And that's the hard truth: no one else can do that for me.

Yes, I have a wonderful husband. But he can't be responsible for my relationship with myself.

Only I can choose to show up for Christina.

Not perfectly. Not all at once.

Just little by little.

Because there's another part of me that's still here—the creative part.

She calls to me every day.

Ideas arrive suddenly and vividly. I feel them like a spark, like a fire ready to come back to life.

But I push them away.

Not because I don't love creating, but because creating feels different now. I compare myself to who I was before motherhood, before my days belonged to someone else too.

I miss that version of me sometimes.

But maybe I'm not meant to go back to her.

Maybe the goal isn't to find the Christina I used to be.

Maybe it's to make space for the Christina I'm becoming.

The creative part of me didn't disappear when I became a mother.

She just needs care too.

Maybe self-care isn't always bubble baths and long mornings alone.

Maybe it's getting dressed.

Maybe it's making the tea.

Maybe it's opening the sketchbook for ten minutes.

Maybe it's sitting at the dining table, writing down the thoughts that feel too heavy to carry alone.

Because at the end of the day, I am still the creator of my story.

And I'm learning that taking care of myself isn't selfish.

It's how I keep creating a life I want to be present for.

There’s something about slow afternoons at home that makes me want to hold onto time a little longer.

The light filters gently through the windows, the house grows quieter, and somehow the ordinary begins to feel extraordinary.

These are the afternoons I find myself wanting to remember—not because anything remarkable happened, but because everything felt exactly as it was meant to.

Lately, many of those afternoons have been spent in the kitchen.

Not because we needed to bake.

Simply because it gave us a reason to slow down together.

An Afternoon in the Kitchen

The recipe is almost beside the point.

It's the flour scattered across the countertop, the bowls waiting to be mixed, and the warmth that slowly fills the room before anything has even gone into the oven.

There’s something comforting about moving slowly, measuring ingredients without rushing, and letting the afternoon unfold one step at a time.

In a season where so much of life feels busy, baking has become a quiet invitation to pause.

Not to accomplish something.

Just to be here.

Little Hands and Lasting Memories

The sweetest part isn't what comes out of the oven.

It's watching my toddler reach for the measuring cups with such determination, carefully pouring ingredients that rarely land exactly where they're supposed to.

It's the tiny fingerprints left in the flour, the laughter after making another mess, and the excitement that comes from simply being included.

These moments remind me that children aren't looking for perfect afternoons.

They're looking for us.

Present.

Patient.

Together.

Motherhood has a gentle way of teaching me that the moments I try least to control are often the ones that become my favorites.

Keeping It Simple

I've learned that meaningful memories rarely require elaborate plans.

Sometimes all they need is a simple recipe, a quiet afternoon, and the willingness to put everything else on pause for a little while.

The kitchen doesn't have to be spotless.

The cookies don't have to look bakery-perfect.

The afternoon doesn't need to follow a schedule.

There is beauty in the mess.

There is joy in taking our time.

And there is something deeply comforting about creating with our hands instead of rushing through another day.

The Kind of Afternoon I Hope We Remember

Years from now, I don't know if either of us will remember exactly what we baked.

We'll probably forget the recipe.

We may not remember whether the cookies browned a little too much or if flour somehow found its way onto every surface in the kitchen.

But I hope we remember how it felt.

The quiet sunlight pouring through the windows.

The warmth of the oven filling our home.

Little hands covered in flour reaching for mine.

The laughter between the pauses.

The feeling that, for one gentle afternoon, nowhere else in the world mattered.

These ordinary days are passing more quickly than I realize.

And while I can't hold onto every moment, I can choose to be present for them.

Because I have a feeling these are the kinds of afternoons we'll carry with us long after the kitchen has been cleaned and the cookies are gone.

These are the kind of afternoons I hope we remember.

And then some days feel like you’ve poured so much out, there’s nothing left to return to yourself.

Somewhere between the routines, the noise, and the constant giving…

you realize you haven’t checked in with you in a while.

Not in a big, life-changing way.

But in the smallest, quietest moments.

This is where a soft dopamine menu comes in.

Not something structured.

Not something to perfect.

Just a gentle list of things that bring you back to yourself—slowly, softly, without pressure.

Because sometimes, you don’t need a full reset.

You just need a moment.

What is a Soft Dopamine Menu?

It’s a collection of simple, comforting things you can turn to when you need to feel like yourself again.

Not the version of you that’s doing everything for everyone else—

but the version of you that still exists underneath it all.

Think of it as a quiet permission slip

to pause… without needing a reason.

A Soft Dopamine Menu for Moms:

These aren’t big plans.

They’re small moments that hold you.

• wrapping yourself in a blanket in the middle of the day

• drinking your coffee while it’s still warm

• sitting in silence for a few minutes longer than usual

• opening a window and letting fresh air move through your space

• rewatching something familiar and comforting

• writing a few thoughts down without overthinking them

• stepping outside, even if it’s just for a minute

• lighting a candle in the middle of an ordinary day

• doing nothing… and not rushing to fill the space

Why this matters

Motherhood can make everything feel like it has to be productive.

Even rest can start to feel like something you have to earn.

But the truth is—

you don’t need to wait until everything is done to take care of yourself.

You’re allowed to exist in the in-between.

In the quiet moments.

In the pause.

In the soft spaces that don’t ask anything from you.

Coming back to yourself

You don’t have to become someone new.

You don’t have to find a completely different version of yourself.

Sometimes, it’s just about returning.

Returning to the things that feel familiar.

The things that feel gentle.

The things that remind you—you’re still here.

Still you.

Still whole.

Still becoming, in your own time.

A gentle reminder:

Maybe today, it looks like sitting on the couch a little longer.

A warm drink in your hands.

A quiet room around you.

Not doing anything extraordinary.

Just choosing, for a moment,

to come back to yourself.