I am a writer. That will come as no surprise to y’all, since you’re currently reading my latest article. Here’s what you don’t know: I have called myself a writer since third grade when I wrote my first stories. They were simple and often less than a page long. In high school, I leaned into the realm of poetry, struck by the profound ways in which I could express exactly how I was feeling but keep it hidden beneath layers upon layers of metaphors and allusions. Yet after college, I seldom wrote a word. Not a single sentence. Still I considered myself a writer. You see, my third grade self knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life, and I had since adopted it as an integral part of my identity. So though I went on, year after year, without penning a word, I still asserted to any who would listen that I was, indeed, a writer.
I could feel in my soul that writing was my calling.
Fast-forward to 2022. That summer, I moved across the country to this beautiful state of Tennessee where I didn’t know a soul. If you’ve ever made a significant move to a place with no friends or family, you know full well the learning experience that will be about yourself more than anything. Mine involved a heart-to-heart chat with myself that essentially came down to this: if I was a writer (which I still felt down to my bones), then it was time to do something about it.
Enter my dilemma: regular life.
You see, nothing had actually changed (other than my location). I was still a mom to four children. I worked part-time and spent the rest of my time managing our house, with piles upon piles of laundry and dishes. I still had grocery shopping and dinner to make each night. I still had all of the excuses for not following my dream as I’d had before, but now I had something more: a determination to become what I always said I was.
It’s been a slow process. Some days words flow from my fingertips with unreal precision, but most days I struggle and fret over each word, only to go back and edit and reword again and again. Regardless of my difficulties, I’ve kept at it. Since that time, I’ve written a number of posts, both for Knoxville Moms and other online motherhood blogs. I wrote a children’s book for my six-year-old with a message to hang tight to his dreams when things get tough. I’ve worked on a poetry book for my young daughter, and I’m finishing my final edit of my first novel. It’s been quite the ride.
I share this story because I want you to know that it’s okay to chase your own dreams, even as a loving mom. Too many of us keep them hidden for fear. We worry about what it would take from our families. We feel guilty spending our time and efforts on anything that doesn’t directly relate to our children. We’re concerned that we’ll fail, and that failure will feel bigger for the devastation it causes not only us but also our loved ones.
Your dreams are valuable. Whether they’re big or small, whether you succeed or not, your dreams are worth chasing. Trying for them doesn’t make you any less of a mother.
Following your dreams might look different in this stage of life.
It’s taken me over two years to write and edit my book. I know of authors that could accomplish the same in a mere three months. Good for them! My balancing act requires me to have a different timeline. My goals are small, and progress is often minuscule — things like, edit one page per day or just write each day, no matter if it’s only one word. I’m learning to have a different kind of patience with myself and allow for small victories. I don’t have a specific timeline for when and how I will accomplish my goals. Every time I’ve given myself a soft deadline, I’ve passed it without accomplishing what I set out to do. That’s okay. In this busy stage of life, I’m following my dreams at a turtle’s pace, but each step gets me closer to where I eventually want to be.
There will be sacrifices.
I apologize if I’ve made this sound glamorous. It’s not. In the words of John Silver from Treasure Planet, “You give up a few things chasing a dream.” For me, this has been sleeping in on warm summer mornings. Instead, I am up before my children, writing while there is still peace in my home. It’s also friendships. While the other moms are sitting together and chatting with one another during football practice, I can be found across the field, hunched over on the bench as I scramble to get a few words out. I miss a few movie nights with my kids and some extra snuggles and relaxation.
I also found a side to myself that I always knew existed but never knew how to reach.
I’m still a good mom to my children, but I’m also more. I’m the one who shows them that hard work and determination can take them where they want to be. I’m their cheerleader as they dream the impossible and then take their first steps in making it into a reality. I am chasing my dreams as much for them as I am for me. I want my children to know that when I said they could be anything, I am here to help them with that process. 
If you find yourself in the same shoes as my 36 year old self back in 2022, wondering how you can accomplish your goals, wondering if you’re too old for a new dream, just start. Take that first step, whatever it may be. Every step you take builds positive forward momentum, making the next a little easier.
Expect to stumble and trip along the way. Expect to feel the weight of it all and wonder why you thought you could do this. Expect that some days that sacrifice will feel like too much. And expect to look back, in another two years, to marvel over your growth and progress. Dreams are slow-going, even more so when you mix in motherhood and children, but it is so worth it.
