Cold Coffee and the Imaginary Child

The urgency of creative care

Hey Ruth,

Do you remember when we first met? It was at a StartupLab event in 2015. I was seeking work, and you were the social media manager at some cool Norwegian scale-up. I was immediately drawn to you and knew I wanted to keep you close.

When you asked me to edit your book Mor(e) than Motherhood, I should have said no; I had brain fog and life was too much as it was. But I felt called to do it, desperate to be a part of your art. It was as I read your story that I realized that I actually had postpartum depression. Your book saved me.

You said I could share the letter below with others about balancing a “normal” life with a creative one, about longing for the greener grass on the other side. I hope it reaches those who really need to hear it.

And to answer your last question: I promise.

Love,

Leah

It arrived in my mailbox in early February

31/1/2025

Hey you,

Today I’m grateful that letters don't have Sent and Received notifications. God, the freedom to write in a space that doesn't track you or I. Divine. My words will come as they will and you will receive them at the time that you do.

And we get to just trust that it will happen.

There's a poem brewing for us in there somewhere.

Baby is napping. The laundry is on and I had a sip of room temperature coffee. The machine that made it too long ago just started a rinse cycle and woke her.

I think she's just stirring. Both of us taking a few moments in between compartmentalised states to find our bearings. I feel the urge to write with urgency to get it all out while I can.

I lose that feeling of trust.

I guess you know that feeling well.

The clawing of creative ideas to be released. Having to mother them to be patient whilst mothering the rest of the world too. I'm starting to think that being a writer and a mother is like having an extra child that everyone else forgets about except you.

Gosh that sounds really sad. But it is sad. I guess I feel sad a lot these days, do you?

Sometimes I feel like I’m going a bit nuts. I try to explain this "urgency of creative care" to others and I feel like they look at me like we would a kid with an imaginary friend. Kind but also a bit impatient. Like "Sure we believe you but it's time to focus on the real world now."

But I know you understand. I wouldn't wish those feelings for you but I’m selfishly fucking grateful you have them too.

Everyday I'm almost thrown off my feet with waves of picturing a life without my children. Longingly. The books in me bubble up to the surface and I'm hit with what tastes a lot like freedom. Slap in the face.

Then comes the guilt, the shame, the sorrow. The melancholy to my manic.

And then I hold one of my kids and here it comes; a tidal wave of love and longing to Be With. This beautiful human is the universe personified and nothing else matters.

Maybe one day my little boat of a life will find a steadyness. I wish that for you too.

Maybe when the kids are a bit older. And we find a bit more space, on paper, again.

I’m starting to wonder if our big little creative selves will find a rhythm that feels less like a salty slap in the face and more like how this letter feels.

Writing with ideas that have no Sent or Received receipts. A trust that it will steadily happen.

Two paper boats bobbing along on currents we don't control.

I'll try to keep sane and keep writing when I can, promise me you will too?

Baby hasn’t napped this long in months! Coffee is cold. The house is a tip and I really need a shower. Here I go overthinking how to spend these fragile moments again. Waves on waves. A letter full of disjointed metaphors all trying to get out at once.

Thanks for reading them.

Grateful I get to write with you.

Ruth xx

If you know a mom who feels like her identity has one foot in each world, I biasedly recommend gifting them Mor(e) than Motherhood for the upcoming Mother’s Day. Especially if that mom is you.

Together, we can be paper boats bobbing along on currents we don't control. <3