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

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.

February · Softness · Identity · Rest

There was a time when creativity wasn’t optional in my life.

It was my major.
My discipline.
My language.

I studied Fine Arts in college, with minors in education and graphic design. Art wasn’t just something I enjoyed — it was how I understood the world. How I processed it. How I expressed who I was becoming.

Creation felt natural then. Required, even.

Somewhere along the way, that rhythm grew quieter.

When Creativity Became Quiet

After moving to Pittsburgh, life shifted in ways I didn’t fully anticipate.

Then motherhood reshaped everything again.

I closed my graphic design business. I stepped fully into being a stay-at-home mom. My days are centered around nurturing, tending, holding, teaching, cleaning, cooking, and remembering everyone else’s needs.

It is good.
It is meaningful.
It is holy work in its own quiet way.

It is also consuming.

Art didn’t disappear — it just grew quiet.

Not because I stopped loving it.
But because survival seasons don’t always leave room for softness.

Starting Again — Imperfectly

Last year, I began carving small pockets of time for myself.

Not hours.
Not elaborate projects.

Just small returns.

A sketch while dinner simmered.
An idea written down before bed.
Paper spread across the table during a quiet afternoon.

I don’t do it perfectly.
I don’t do it as often as I would like.

But something has blossomed in that space.

Not in productivity.
In presence.

Creativity has become less about output and more about grounding. Less about proving and more about remembering.

It steadies me.

It reconnects me to the part of myself that existed before roles and responsibilities multiplied.

Maybe you feel that too — that quiet distance from who you used to be. Not lost. Just layered beneath everything else.

Creativity as Care

A routine.
A reset day.
A perfectly protected block of time.

But creativity has shown me another way.

Care can be ten quiet minutes.
Care can be drawing without a plan.
Care can be allowing something to unfold slowly.

When I sit down to create, even briefly, I feel myself expand instead of contract.

It reminds me that I am not only a caregiver — I am also a creator.

That remembering is powerful.

Creativity as care is bigger than surface-level self-care.

It’s me trying to find myself back — piece by piece.

You don’t have to be an artist to return to yourself. Maybe for you it’s journaling. Baking slowly. Rearranging a shelf. Planting something small. The form doesn’t matter. The remembering does.

When Care Becomes Vision

What if the space that has helped me reconnect could exist on paper for other mothers, too?

Not something loud.
Not something trend-driven.

But slow, intentional coloring page sets — and later, coloring books.

Emotion-led.
Gentle.
Rooted in growth.

Florals emerging from stillness.
Soft figures at rest.
Moments where nothing is performative.

Each set is small. Unhurried. Four or five pages at a time. Something a mother could print, sit with, and return to.

Right now, it’s still early. I’ve drawn two pieces. That’s it.

And I’m letting that be enough.

Because this idea didn’t come from pressure. It came from care.

From understanding how easy it is to feel unseen in motherhood. How rare it can be to have five quiet minutes that belong only to you.

If creativity has given me back pieces of myself, even imperfectly, maybe these coloring page sets — and eventually, full coloring books — can offer that same gentle return to someone else.

Not as productivity.
Not as performance.

But as presence.

Coming Back Softly

This season doesn’t require spectacle.

It doesn’t require scale.

It only asks for gentleness.

So I’m protecting small creative pockets.
I’m honoring the ideas that surface slowly.
I’m allowing growth to happen quietly.

And maybe that’s what creativity as care really is.

Not building something impressive.

But coming back to yourself.

Softly. 🤍