Making space for Mom

find a room of your own to cope with overstimulation

As I’m trying to write this, my cat has jumped on my keyboard approximately 16 times. She is purring and sweet and bumps her wet nose on my fingers to rub under her chin. But I literally cannot. It’s my son’s nap time (on a day when he’s home from daycare with hand, foot, and mouth…yes, sick again…) and I’m profoundly in need of space.

During a recent virtual therapy session, this same lovely cat jumped in front of the camera and walked across the keyboard to demand my hands. “I tend to attract cats,” my therapist said. After the cat interrupted no less than 16 times, she added, “Oh, you really don’t get a break, do you?”

The petting and rubbing and snuggling and cradling are all real cute… until they’re not. Until you realize that you’re incredibly touched-out. (You might be thinking, “Just close the door!” Which sounds like a wonderful and profound idea, until you have cats who literally jump up to open door handles. Ask me for video proof.)

I remember learning about this early on in motherhood, this concept of overstimulation.

“Overstimulation happens when our sensory system is flooded with input in a way that we cannot process effectively, such as too much input (like noise or touch) too quickly, or a sustained amount of input over time. When our nervous system reaches its maximum threshold of information, we can have a sympathetic nervous system response—fight, flight, or freeze mode—because we think we are in danger.”

-Larissa Geleris, occupational therapist, shared in this article from The EveryMom

It’s easy to feel a deep guilt wash over you when the thoughts that roll through your mind include, Please don’t touch me, I need a break, leave me alone, and please please please be quiet.

I’m working on recognizing when I feel guilty that the crying and babbling and throwing and banging are all too much and I need a reset. It doesn’t mean I’m a bad mom that I need space and quiet. When I cannot hear Old MacDonald Had A Farm one more time, even as cute as it is to hear my son sing, “Ee-i-ee-i-o,” I’m not automatically disqualified for motherhood.

My mom is the opposite. She can handle—and actually loves—long periods of talking, singing, loud noises, and snuggles. It’s made her an amazing mother, teacher, and now grandmother. She brings the party.

But there’s not one level of stimulation that’s perfect for everyone. And there’s not one way to be a great mom.

I’m working on owning it, this need for space and quiet and a sensory cleanse.

This is something I don’t believe in myself enough (but, again, I’m working on it): I’m actually a great mom for leaning into what I need to thrive.

***

Yesterday, the window screen to my new office space was covered in ladybugs. I’m talking one hundred plus ladybugs.

(Side note: This might be an infestation problem that I need to consult with my husband and the Orkin man about, but for now, let’s follow this lovely thread and gawk at only the beauty and significance of these lucky ladies.)

In Ashlee Gadd’s book, “Create Anyway: The Joy of Pursuing Creativity in the Margins of Motherhood,” (find her writing at

The Second Act

) she writes about spotting ladybugs everywhere. For her, it became a breadcrumb, or a “divine hint” that nudged her forward. She started seeing ladybugs everywhere, right when she wanted to throw in the towel and quit everything.

“One day, I wake up and actually feel a desire to create again, to get words down on paper.

Another ladybug appears on the living room curtain. I start dreaming of a new narrative podcast, a website makeover, a workshop I’d like to teach someday. The fifth ladybug shows up in my kitchen sink, the sixth on the bathroom counter. Be still. Listen. Pay attention.”

I thought of this chapter in Ashlee’s book yesterday as I moved in a bookcase to this spare bedroom that I’m starting to call “my office.” My books have been scattered all over our house, visually overwhelming piles for me, so I took the bookcase out of my husband’s closet and I moved it into this empty room.

We used to call this room “the cat’s room.” But guess what? The cat’s don’t need a room. Mom needs a room.

Honestly, it took up time that I didn’t feel like I had to move the bookcase and set up my space. I had many moments of wondering, does this even matter? Do I really need a space? Do I even deserve a space?

And then I saw the ladybugs. Yes, yes, yes, this matters. Keep going. In a time in my life when I’m working on literally and figuratively taking up space, this matters. The work I’m doing in here matters.

I dug out old picture frames from boxes in the basement to sit on top of the bookcase. I brought up an old lamp and found a lightbulb. I found a picture in Pottery Barn where I loved the colors, something about the deep mustard yellows and creams made me feel warm and fuzzy. So I ordered some look-alike (and much cheaper) pillow cases to cover some old pillows that were stashed in our basement and propped them on the futon in my new room. My mom brought over an old wooden two-top table we inherited when my great grandfather passed away. A desk of sorts that overlooks our front yard, bursting with vibrant yellow fall leaves, this same color that makes me feel at home.

On my new desk, I have a sketch pad where I wrote with watercolors the words that I’m focused on this fall: Repair and Reclaim.

In this space—my space—I can think and wander and breathe. I can catch my breath in between all the singing and hugging and cleaning and crying. I can find words for all the feelings bubbling inside of me as I grow into a new person, a new woman birthed when my son was born.

I can watch the light shift as the day fades. I can learn and grow and pay attention. I can dream about what I need as the days pile up into years.

As I watched the ladybugs flood the window screen, my breath caught a little bit in my throat. A sign, maybe, that this the next right thing for me. A space for Mom.

I matter—and you matter—enough to make a space of your own.

Give these a try…

1. I’ve recommended her book before in this post. Ashlee Gadd’s Create Anyway: The Joy of Pursuing Creativity in the Margins of Motherhood is an excellent companion to thinking about making space as a creative mother. Ashlee (and this Ashley!) will challenge you to think about “space” in many ways—you don’t need an empty spare bedroom to make space to stretch your creativity, to work, to grow, or to simply just take a break from the demands of being Mom.

2. Sharing this again, too, because I get questions on this offline (and I’ll have a whole post on it soon). How do you find a therapist? Start here and use the “Find a Therapist” tab to search using your zip code, insurance, preferences, and issues you’d like to explore. It takes more reading and digging after that, but stick with it! Send a few emails and find someone who can meet virtually or in-person.

3. And because I love a good journal prompt… grab a notebook and write for even 3 minutes about this idea of space: What makes you feel overstimulated? When do you need a break? How do you feel most recharged? Where can you carve out your “space”?