I know I’m blessed to have a job that allows me to be more hands on with my kids. I’m not working all the time, and I get to be there with them. That matters to me. I’m grateful for that.

But I still dread going into work when I have to.

And I feel like I have to explain the grateful part first because I don’t want it to sound like I don’t appreciate what I have. I do. I just wish I liked the actual job more.

It’s so repetitive. You go in and do the same stuff over and over again, and there isn’t much room to use your brain. I’m doing what I need to do, but sometimes I feel like a fucking zombie. Going through the motions, getting through the day, and then knowing I’m going to come back and do it all again.

I want to think about things. I want to have ideas and do something with them. I want room to be curious and try shit, even if I don’t know where it’s going yet.

That’s what writing gives me.

When I write, I get to use the parts of my brain that don’t really have anywhere to go at work. I can take a feeling or some random thought and see what happens with it. I can make something that didn’t exist before I sat down.

And I like having that. Something I’m doing because I want to.

I love my kids. I love being their mom, and I want to be present for them. But I also want time for my own interests and the things I’m trying to figure out about myself. I have dreams I want to work toward, even if I’m working on them a little at a time.

Usually, that time comes at the end of the night. I’m home, the kids are down in bed, and I finally have some free time to myself. That’s when I write.

And even though I’m using my brain, it’s relaxing to me. I know writing can sound like more work after already working and taking care of kids, but I enjoy getting to sit with my own ideas. I’ve been wanting to get to them.

On my days off, when the house is empty, I write then too. Having that quiet time to get into something without having to stop feels good.

A lot of it is the book I’m working on. Figuring out the story, working through the characters, and trying to get what’s in my head onto the page. Then sometimes I’m brainstorming ideas for future books, even though I’m still working on this one. Apparently, my brain has already decided there are more.

I’ve also been trying other forms of writing. Poems, lyrics for songs, just seeing what else I’m interested in and what I like doing.

I don’t know where all of it will go yet. I’m curious. Sometimes I want to try writing something just to see if I can, or see how it feels. I like being able to follow that without having to know what I’m going to do with it afterward.

I think that’s a big part of why I need this time. So much of my day already has a purpose. There are things I have to do at work and things that need to get done at home. With writing, I get to decide what I’m doing. I can spend time on a story because it interests me. I can try a poem because I feel like it.

I get to find out what I like.

And I’m still learning that about myself. What I want to write, what I want to say, what I might be good at if I keep giving myself time to do it.

I’m grateful my job gives me time with my kids. I still wish I enjoyed being there more. I love being a mom, and I want to keep making room for the things that are mine too.

Right now, that looks like working on my book after the kids go to bed. Or sitting in an empty house on a day off, trying to write a poem or some song lyrics and seeing what comes out.

I look forward to that time. I want to see what I can do with it.