motherhood - The Barefoot Blogger

It’s true that as time goes on and life gets busier, the gaps between each blog gets a little larger. However, the fact that my last blog about saying farewell to maternity leave as I prepared to return to the workforce, was a whole 10 months ago, speaks volumes about how my 2025 has played out, thus far. Has yours been a bit of a shit show too? (USA, blink twice if you need help).

I returned to almost full-time work when my son was 5 ½ months old. Lucky enough to be working a hybrid work model of a few days at home and a few days in the office. No words of warning from other parents can prepare you for the absolute chaos that returning to work after creating a human less than 6 months ago is. Because just in case you didn’t know, you actually have to care for that human 24/7 and then somehow miraculously balance everything else simultaneously. Being away from him makes you physically ache, but being with him 24/7 can equally make you fucking crazy. As I left the house to return to my first shift in the office, I thought I would cry. I thought he would cry. He didn’t even turn to farewell me at the door, and I hopped into the car with a face full of make-up, tits in an actual bra and pumping the best pop a 90’s kid can find. It felt amazing to see my friends, to have adult conversations about you as a person, and to concentrate on a task at hand without the sounds of tears or Ms Rachel’s voice in the background. Until it got to lunch time, when my body ached to be away from him, and tears prickled at my eyes when I FaceTimed him.

I guess I thought I would just settle into a routine, but when I came up with that idea, he was a baby who didn’t move that much and wasn’t awake that much. Each week was a new development. First, eating solids 3 times a day, which it turns out is messier that Pro Hart or Jackson Pollock, so you’d better be prepared to bathe them 3 times a day (the kitchen sink is utterly acceptable in my opinion). All I wanted was to feed him myself because it’s neater and more efficient, but putting their pudgy little digits all through the food (and hair and eye lashes) is part of their development, and you don’t want to be the selfish bitch who inhibits their development because customers are screaming at you to reply to them. Then it’s crawling, then it’s walking (over achiever that he is, had to start this at 10 months) then it’s yanking on your leg and crying every single time you sit down to do your actual job that you’re being paid for.

I have spent my entire life being a people pleasing perfectionist. Always loving that pat on the head for doing a good job. What returning to the workforce made me feel like, was a failure, loser, neglectful piece of shit. When I left for my maternity leave, I was a highly valued employee who knew her role inside out and could put out fires with ease. What I became, was someone who could never finish her shift on top of her workload.

As a mother. I took on the role with ease and confidence from the second my son’s flesh touched mine. Suddenly everything made sense, and everything came naturally to me. Which is pretty fucking amazing considering I never read one parenting book, or listened to one parenting podcast or showed any interest in parenting content at all. Including through pregnancy. I was my son’s favourite person in the world. When I returned to work, I swiftly dropped to 3^rd place behind his Dad and Ms Rachel. Are you surprised? I had my back turned to him for at least 8hrs a day on my WFH days. Or 12hrs away from him on office days where I would leave as he woke and return as he was hopping into bed. Spending my train ride home gently sobbing as I scrolled through newborn pictures of him. The joyful times we used to share like our long walks by the water or playing in the park then became chores I needed to tick off my list before throwing him in front of the TV (something I swore I would never do until he was 3) whilst I ran back to reply to whatever email was telling me that I was somehow failing in my role as well.

I’ve spent my life as an over achiever and this year as an utter failure. Or sub-par at best.

If that wasn’t bad enough, the conversation of full time childcare was then brought up by my employer. Completely understandable from a work perspective. And I realise now how impossible it was to do both at the same time. But I’ll tell you what I told them, I didn’t have a child just to see him on the weekends. As well as the fact that all the childcare centres are at capacity in my area, and how about the fact that the cost of childcare would pretty much negate my very modest salary.

The math just wasn’t mathing.

I ask you in all honesty, how the actual fuck are we supposed to do it all?!!! How are we supposed to take care of these kids physically and emotionally, work full time to pay for groceries and houses that only billionaires can afford now, be a good wife / sister / friend / aunty, / neighbour, meditate, yoga, run, lift weights, attend 1000 appointments, grocery shop, buy birthday gifts, drink water and have those infrared saunas for your postpartum recovery.

I am fully aware that it was my individual choice to have a child, but this society is in no way set-up to support mothers. If you don’t have family who can help everyday or loads of money to hire help, you’re all on your own and you’re absolutely fucked.

As the stress coursed through my body like an electric current, I threw my son in the pram (not literally, don’t call DOCS, I’m actually a great Mum, in spite of the rant that is this blog) and grabbed my husband and said “let’s go for a walk, something’s gotta give”.

My husband runs his own business and it was always the plan that I would one day help him with the business, until my podcast became such a hit that I would do that for a living (seriously though are you subscribed? Have you left me a 5-star review?) We just had a different timeline where there would be a lot more business to fund our whole family. But the desperation of the situation fast-tracked the decision and I handed in my notice.

The words of everyone’s favourite Green Goddess, Elphaba from Wicked, just kept swirling through my head…

“Something has changed within me. Something is not the same. I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game”.

I’m simply not who I was before. I created a life. My priorities have shifted. My views on the world have evolved. Plus, I’m 42yrs old and have been working for someone else since I was 15. I was just done. I didn’t want to pour all of my energy and creativity into something that didn’t have my name on it anymore.

I finished up in July and have been working on my own business and my husband’s business since. I’m loving my freedom to dictate my schedule. I’m loving meeting new people each week and I’m loving being creative and knowing that whatever money I bring in, will go into businesses that ultimately build our family’s wealth. But on the other hand, I’m very uncomfortable (which is what I said I wanted to do in 2025, try new things and get comfortable in the uncomfortable.) It’s terrifying not knowing when the money will come in. There are no sick days when you work for yourself and there sure as hell ain’t any sick leave from parenting.

I spent the first half of the year with plenty of money in my account but extremely time poor and devoid of any true joy. Just merely a lab rat on autopilot. And I march into the second half of the year with a terrifyingly empty transaction account, but a heart of full of unimaginable love because each day, I get to hear my son’s shrieks of joy as I push him higher and higher on the swing.

As I write this blog with a bulge in my throat and the prickling of tears behind my eyes, partly because I’m on my luteal phase and partly because I’m incredibly sleep deprived after a week of rough sleeps with the annual change of season cold spreading through the house, I’m looking over at this tiny human with his mouth open and eyes fluttering from a dream (presumably about hopping bunnies) and I know that I can do this. I know that I can tell the little voice of fear and doubt to shut the fuck up, because this perfect little person chose me to be his Mum because he knows that no one will take better care of him. I just have to keep reminding myself that he doesn’t give a shit if I can’t buy him as many new outfits this Spring and Summer. That many of the outfits will be $14 Kmart sets as opposed to the $80 Goldie + Ace outfits I got him last year. Because what he prefers (and deserves) is a Mum who can sit down and build blocks with him. A Mum who pops him in the trolley and takes him to the shops to look at the new Christmas Globes at David Jones. The Mum who laughs and dances with him in the living room instead of popping anti-anxiety meds, just to get through one more shift at work.

**“As bad as things were before, that’s how good they became”.**
GIF courtesy of https://www.tumblr.com/where-our-stories-start/183922710940/as-bad-as-things-were-before-thats-how-good-they

I will succeed at my business ventures, because I choose to only entertain the idea of success and reject the notion of failure. I will live a life where I prosper through my creative outlets not only because that is what I deserve, but because the world is a better place when we’re thriving.

If you’re a Mum who’s struggling and feels pulled in a hundred different directions, I see you and I hear you. It’s a nearly impossible task. You’re doing such a great job. I hope you get some time to take care of yourself and have loads of fun, very soon.

If you’re thinking about starting your own business or project, I hope you succeed. And in case no one told you today, I think you’re fucking marvellous.

Whatever day, season or year you’re having, you got this, bitch. I believe in you.

And whenever you start to doubt yourself, let Maya Angelou’s words leave your lips…

I’m a woman

Phenomenally.

Phenomenal woman,

That’s me.

Love Leo and Mummy. And side note, the $14 Kmart outfit is pretty cute, right?!

I’m on the precipice of turning 40 and feel that my grace period of delaying childbirth may be coming to an end. Don’t get me wrong, I love kids and have always pictured having them, that was never a question. I just got here so much faster than I could have imagined. I’m gonna say the thing that so many of you have thought but haven’t wanted to say for fear of sounding selfish or insensitive…I’m scared.

I swear to God, I was 15yrs old a few weeks ago, looking out the window in my parents’ house, dreaming bigger dreams for my life than you could ever imagine. And nearly all of them centred around my creative pursuits. I dreamt of singing on the world’s biggest stages, creating beautiful music, meeting new people, travelling the world, having mind-blowing sex like all those highlighted pages in my Danielle Steel books, and kissing in the rain like Gwyneth Paltrow and Ethan Hawke in Great Expectations.

(GIF courtesy of aliasledger.tumblr.com)

I always knew I’d have kids with the love of my life one day, I just never spent time lying on my bed daydreaming about it.

For so long I was a child under the rule of my parents and teachers. Then I went into controlling relationships with older men who thought part of loving me was dictating my do’s and don’ts. The last few years have been magical, but my freedom was slightly hindered by the massive debt I was working 3 jobs to pay off. For the first time in my adult life; I’m debt free, I’m in a relationship that perfectly combines support & freedom, and I’ve rekindled lifelong friendships that set my soul ablaze. My mind is old enough to make good choices, my legs are young enough to cut some serious dance moves (anyone catch us at Marly Bar last Saturday?) and I have a voice that speaks my mind the way I always wanted her to (my greatest achievement to date). Without a doubt, I am living my absolute best life, and I just know that in years to come, my mind will revisit these days with much gratitude and nostalgia.

I’m so excited for my next chapter, but I feel something in my chest that I’ve felt before, in darker times. It’s grief.

To be able to embark on any new chapter: a new relationship, a new job, a new home, there had to have been a closing of an old chapter. It is in no way disrespectful to your new chapter to feel sadness and grief as you bid a fond farewell to something that was part of you for so long.

I’ve been Steph for nearly forty years. I wake up and think of my needs first. I meditate, I do yoga, I drink my juice, I put on a vlog and get ready, I go to the gym, I login to work, I go for an infrared sauna, I curl up on my bed and read a book. Perhaps not much of this will change when I become a Mum or perhaps most of it will. For a while, my needs will take a backseat. And as rewarding as I know in my gut motherhood will be, that concept is fucking terrifying.

For so many years, I lived a shit life. I felt really bad about myself, I had severe depression and many times contemplated ending a life that caused me so much pain. It was through sheer grit of working on myself and my needs that I clawed my way into an existence full of joy and purpose.

This is a hard thing to talk about because there are so many wonderful mums-in-waiting who have been struggling with infertility and miscarriages. I’ve had to be very careful who I’ve shared my fears with, to not be insensitive and cause them further pain. But I want you to remember that the severity of someone else’s struggles does not shrink yours. Your story is your story. Your feelings are always valid.

I know in my gut that I’ll be a great Mum. I adore my nephews and my niece like nobody’s business, but I’m really scared for the baby stuff. I never had babies around me and I have no freaking clue what I’m doing. I just wanna take a long nap after conception and wake up to a 4yr old who comes home from pre-school and tells me funny shit about their day. The stage where I can sleep through the night without toothless screams, where no one will shit on me and where I can be back in the gym every day.

I recently shared these fears with some close friends and how I’m frantically trying to fit in all the fun stuff before kids come along (singing gigs, nights out with friends, travel) and the husband of one of my besties said “Um, it’s not like you’re dying”. I literally heard my voice in my head reply “Isn’t it though?” All well and good for you Dads to say, your tits won’t be pointing to your shoes, your insides won’t be stretched open and you won’t have hormones forcing you to shed buckets of tears. When you travel for work, you won’t have keyboard warriors mum-shaming you.

I know, you parents out there think I’m being a dramatic bitch, but the truth is, Single Steph is dying, and this is her fucking eulogy OK, so sit down and pay your last respects. It’s been a hell of a ride.

Slight diversion approaching but stick with it, I have a relatable point…

I’m a HUGE tennis fan, and watching Roger, Raffa and Serena has been an absolute privilege. Do you know what really fucking irks me? When they’re winning streak starts to taper off as fresh blood comes in (after 15 years of absolute dominance) and these losers on their couch start saying; “oh just retire”, “just let go already”. You know when they’ll let go? When they’re good and ready to let go. On their terms. When I see an elite athlete having to bow out not because they want to, but because their body is forcing them to, it absolutely breaks my heart. For so many years I cared about nothing but achieving greatness in my creative field. I had horse blinkers on. I find it so incredibly sexy and inspiring when someone gives their craft their absolute all and can only imagine that having to step away from a life that is literally all you’ve ever known, must be excruciating. That, my friends, is grief.

I feel like I grew up in a time where I was told who to be and how to act. My aim is to take a different tack. I’m so excited to meet my kids to watch them flourish. I hope I make them feel loved and supported but I pray to God I never make them feel judged or suffocated. I hope I can give them good advice when they need it and shut my mouth when all they want is to feel heard. I hope we share experiences together and I pray they never feel the need to screen my calls. I hope they love themselves more than they ever love another and make good choices not because I tell them to, but because they know they’re worthy of that. And most importantly, I hope I don’t fuck them up.

To all my girls out there reading this and feeling seen. Please know, you’re not alone. I share your fears. And your feelings are always, always valid.

And to my future kids, don’t be offended by this, you don’t exist yet. I’m sure I’ll take it all back, as long as your first word isn’t Dad.

Now wish me luck as I embark on a 4 week adventure through Morocco, France and Italy. Overshare time: I’m ovulating in Paris so it’s possible I may not see as many museums as I would like…

Tag: motherhood

Quitting the 9-5 job, working for myself + juggling motherhood

Even the best life changes can incur a period of grief