When I was expecting my first child, a profound realization struck me—not just the fact that my pre-baby body might never return (which I accepted), or the incredible notion that I would soon nourish a tiny human with my body. What really resonated was the understanding that my life would no longer revolve around my desires, needs, or even my dreams.
I’ve always seen myself as a dreamer. As a child, I would share grand visions with my grandparents about living on a sprawling ranch filled with horses, dogs, cats, and a parrot, all while being in a bustling city that offered ice cream around the clock and any food I could wish for being delivered at will. Fast forward to my pregnancy, which felt like a miracle after a challenging journey to get there; my aspirations had shifted. I envisioned splitting my time between California and Hawaii, owning seaside homes in both locations, while still holding onto the dream of a ranch. I longed for a vibrant life full of children, friends, experiences, and the chance to write every book that filled my heart.
Even after my daughter’s arrival, that dream of becoming a successful author burned brightly within me. In fact, motherhood sharpened my focus, determination, and creativity. Yet, I grappled with the notion that my aspirations seemed less significant compared to my daughter’s existence. Like many moms, I believed that my dreams should take a backseat to hers. I thought her well-being would dictate my path, and I assumed my goals would have to wait until she reached adulthood.
Then came the exhilarating moment when I got accepted into Pitch Wars, a prestigious writing contest. It felt like my years of hard work on my first novel might finally pay off. I envisioned not only writing for pleasure but also earning an income that could contribute to my family’s needs. This would mean I could justify hiring a babysitter to carve out more writing time, alleviating the guilt of momentarily stepping away from my children.
As I dedicated hours to editing while balancing family life, I felt a sense of accomplishment. My children were still cherished, and milestones were celebrated, despite some extra screen time. However, when the contest concluded, the rejections from agents poured in. The feedback was consistent—my book lacked romance, or it featured a protagonist whose goals were too controversial. Each rejection stung, making me question my ambition to be a novelist. I realized that writing good books required significant time, and that time often meant sacrificing moments with my children.
As I struggled with guilt, I told myself that pursuing writing was selfish, especially when my children’s needs were so pressing. I backed off from my writing, only to find myself feeling anxious and unsettled. Despite the gifts of motherhood, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something essential.
During a family vacation, a conversation with a friend shifted my perspective. He stressed that the most crucial factor in raising happy, healthy children was the example set by their parents. This resonated deeply. By neglecting my own dreams, I was inadvertently teaching my children that it’s acceptable to abandon their passions for immediate gratification. I was not showing them the value of hard work, perseverance, and the importance of self-care, including pursuing creative endeavors.
Returning home, I reignited my passion. I realized that if I want my daughter to reach for the stars, I must do so alongside her. If I wish for my son to embrace challenges, I need to model that bravery myself. I must write not only for my dreams but also for theirs.
While my children’s needs will always be my priority, by pursuing my aspirations, I’m creating a roadmap for them—a guide to achieving their own unique dreams, no matter how daunting they may seem, like a career in writing.
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In summary, nurturing our dreams, alongside our children’s needs, is vital for both personal fulfillment and setting a positive example for the next generation.