Before and after Caleb was born, he was the inspiration behind almost everything I wrote. There were weekly pregnancy bumpdates, reflections on the highs and lows of new motherhood, and stories full of love and exhaustion. I had so many words inside me that I couldn’t keep them in. I became, without really meaning to, a mommy blogger.
And honestly? I was okay with that. Mommy bloggers are wonderful. Sharing my experiences helped me process them. It was a gift to myself and, I hoped, to others too. I could capture the rawness of early motherhood while it was still fresh, and other moms could read along and feel a little less alone. I made real connections and lifelong friends.
But the problem is — I’ve never liked being boxed in.
I used to be a book blogger, and I didn’t love having a niche then either. I like the freedom to write about what I want, when I want. I didn’t want to be just a book blogger, and I didn’t want to be just a mommy blogger. I just wanted to be a writer. A blogger. Period.
Eventually (okay… last year), Caleb turned one. And with that milestone came real questions about privacy. I had set a personal rule from the start: after his first birthday, the frequency and detail of what I shared about him would change. Fewer photos. Less specific stories. More respect for his growing autonomy. I still love talking about him — I always will — but I knew the storytelling had to evolve.
And that’s when the panic hit.
What will I write about?
What can I talk about?
Motherhood had become my primary inspiration. Caleb was my muse. If I wasn’t writing about him, what else was there to say?
It scared me. For a while, I thought maybe I had written myself into a corner. That without the early days of motherhood to mine for words, my blog would fall quiet.
But then it hit me: there’s so much more to say.
Motherhood is a massive part of who I am — but it’s not the only part. That’s something I wish more new moms realized sooner: you don’t have to lose yourself to become a good parent. You can love your child more than anything in the world… and still be your own person.
I used to worry that saying that out loud would make people think I didn’t care. That I wasn’t as devoted. That I was selfish or less than. But the truth is, I think I’m a better mom because I’m still me. I don’t love my child instead of myself — I love him as myself.
Yes, I’m a mother. Yes, it’s the most important role I’ve ever had.
But I’m not just a mom.
Hi, I’m Steph. I’m a mom.
I’m also a librarian with a love for learning. I proudly earned my MLS and genuinely enjoyed college. Books are my greatest passion — reading them, reviewing them, recommending them. Blogging has been my outlet since 2009, and writing has always felt like home.
I’m an introvert who avoids crowds, a reality TV junkie, and someone who’s trying (and trying again) to fall back in love with running. I’ve struggled with my weight my entire life — lost a lot, gained a lot back, and am still working on finding a balance that feels good. Lately, I’m into clothes that make me like my body a little more.
I’m a dog mom to my sweet Dakota. I’m a budget nerd. I’m obsessed with primitive and rustic decor and am slowly turning my house into the old farmhouse of my dreams — one vintage find and mason jar at a time. Oh, and yes, I do have a barn door wall.
I think deeply. I talk less than I think. I sit with things a long time before I write them down. Chocolate, cheese, and pasta are my holy trinity. I have anxiety, but it doesn’t get to run the show. I’m a little quirky and a little complicated, and I’d almost always rather be reading.
These are the things I write about when I’m not writing about motherhood.
Because we’re all made of a thousand little parts — not just one.
Because being a mother isn’t the end of your identity, it’s the expansion of it.
Because you’re still in there.
And so am I.
I’m a mom. A proud one.
But I’m also more. And so are you.
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