Making your own passions a priority takes a lot of commitment – and courage. Here, Amy shares an insight from her own lessons of sharing herself with the world – and how important it is for us all to do the same.


A week after my son was born, I wrote and posted a lengthy blog post about his arrival.

It was Halloween, and my husband had taken our two eldest children out to Trick or Treat in the local neighbourhood streets, and I was tucked up inside the house, cushioned within that newborn bubble.

He was such a happy new baby – sleeping, quietly feeding, slowly growing into his tiny old man features right before our eyes. I was in heaven. It was a moment in time that felt so very right, I didn’t think I could be any happier. Everything was just… right in my world.

And so, I started to write about it.

The words flowed out of me, as they do when I’m in the right space. When inspiration hits me, writing comes so easily that I often read what I created a few days later and don’t recognise it as me. Are they my words? Did I write that? I don’t even remember the insights spilling from my fingers. It just happens.

And so writing, when I was huddled inside from the Halloween madness outside, felt natural.

But not to everyone who read it.

There were a lot of comments about me ‘working’ so quickly after he was born. There were statements about being surprised I could manage it; many said that when they were only a week into newborn-land they couldn’t string two words together. Some asked how quickly I came home from hospital, others were kind with their comments but underneath it was a ‘wow, I can’t believe you’re doing this right now’.

And, before I knew it, I found myself explaining and justifying.

The joy I had felt in sharing my moment evaporated. I retreated from sharing for a little while, bruised and a little battered.



Writing is my therapy. It’s my outlet, my space to think, and the tool I use to get myself out of a funk.

When positive thinking and deep breathes don’t shift that Inner Mean Mama taking over my mind and body, grabbing a pen and my journal and writing it out always does. As does tapping away at my keyboard as I stand at the kitchen bench. It’s my outlet, and my peace.

I would do it even if it wasn’t my ‘job’. In fact, I can’t not do it.

And as mamas, every single one of us must honour whatever it is that brings us that peace.



Maybe your creativity is not understood at times.

Maybe the way you prioritise baking, or gardening, or yoga raises the occasional eyebrow.

Maybe your passion for whole-foods, or painting, or netball takes you away from your children at times, and the guilt underneath your desire stops you from committing as much as you’d like.

It is so easy to get caught up with the stories around us of what we should be doing, and how we should be doing it. We’re judged at every turn, even when the people around us never intend to judge. It’s just human nature – and usually more about the other person than it is ever about us.

But what I know for sure is that if we let this part of ourselves whither and die out of fear, we too will feel like we die.

We can’t let anything get in the way of our connection to ourselves, mamas.

We can’t.

Society is already demanding so much of our souls every single moment of every single day, we can’t let them have that unique, private joy that our creativity brings us. We just can’t.



And so now, I share because I have to.

I never write with the intention of reading the comments, or wondering whether this post got more likes than the last. I write because, in that moment, I have to. The words are being called to be shared. It is something that is way beyond me – and I am just grateful that I can now call this my work.

But whether you get paid for your passion or it’s something that you are still secretly trying to fit in with the kids, never let judgement or criticism stop you. Being creative is to be human – and to be a woman.

It is what helps us show up each day.

It is what makes us whole.