Hum of Progress

Before becoming a mother, I thrived on momentum. My days were full, my calendar was color-coded, and my career had its own steady rhythm. I knew how to create, to build, to push forward. I loved the rush of it — the constant hum of progress.

Then my daughter came, and that hum went quiet.

At first, I thought I could simply weave my work around motherhood. Nap times would be my productivity sprints, evenings my creative hours. But the reality was slower and heavier than I expected. Projects sat untouched. Deadlines slipped by. I’d sit at my laptop and feel my mind drift to the sound of baby breaths in the next room.

Motherhood was — and is — an all-consuming shift. I’m still getting back to who I was and am, and learning to accept the new version of that person and what my career will look like now. There are unfinished projects and unfulfilled task lists, and it will all be… eventually. But building stamina in this new version of myself has been the hardest work I’ve ever done — second only to doing my best to be a present mom.

The loss of momentum felt like a loss of myself. I grieved that pace, the quick results, the version of me who could take on ten things at once. And yet, as the days stretched and slowed, I began to notice something else — a different kind of pace pulling me in.

Motherhood was teaching me a patience I didn’t know I needed. It was asking me to be present in a way my work never had. It was forcing me to measure success differently — in giggles, in small milestones, in quiet moments no one else would ever see.

It wasn’t easy to let go of the old rhythm. There were days I fought against it, tried to force the productivity back into place. But eventually, I learned that there are seasons for sprinting and seasons for walking — and both matter.

Dear Mama grew in that slower season. It was a reminder that even when the momentum stops, you are still moving forward. Sometimes the pause is what makes the next chapter possible.

If you’re in a pause right now, know this: it’s not the end. Your pace will return. And when it does, it will carry the wisdom of this slower time.