Where it all began...

What began as a way to pass the time and clear my mind of all those overwhelming new mum thoughts, that usually would swirl around my brain at the most inconvenient of times, often in the early hours of the morning while trying to catch some sleep, or whilst I was feeding or soothing my newborn baby girl, soon turned into an incredible passionate journey of putting my deepest inner thoughts and feelings down on paper. In the quiet moments of the night, in the calming surroundings of my daughter's nursery, I found comfort and solace in my renewed love for writing.

Despite not being particularly academic at school, I always had a deep love for creative writing, even from a young age. As a child, I would sit for hours in my room, crafting imaginative stories, allowing my creativity to flourish without worrying about my grammar or spelling, which I often found challenging. As a teenager, despite my English teacher's encouragement, I completely lost my confidence in writing all together. I would shy away from writing on the chalkboard or reading anything I'd written aloud. As a young adult, my struggle continued. I hesitated to submit important emails or documents for work, without someone checking them first, often feeling embarrassed if ever I made a simple mistake. Along with a love of writing, since childhood I've also always had an overactive imagination. If something upset me, I'd escape into a make-believe world in my head. As an adult, making up stories and scenarios in my mind has always been a helpful way to drift off to sleep, eventually letting my subconscious take over and create the most weird and wonderful dreams. However, the downside of having an overactive imagination is that it can sometimes be a hindrance when trying to sleep, especially with the added hormones and new parent anxiety that comes with having a baby.

Despite not being particularly academic at school, I've always had a deep love for writing, even from a young age.

In the first few months of our daughter's life, like any new parent, sleep was in short supply. It was during those long nights sitting in a comfortable armchair, in the darkness of her nursery, when my mind would often lose the ability to rest. The most far-fetched and ridiculous of thoughts would race around in my brain like cars on a never-ending racetrack, while my darling girl slept peacefully in my arms. It was these thoughts that prevented me from settling night after night. A constant stream of anxiety fueled questions would flood my thoughts, like, was I feeding her enough? Was she breathing okay? Is she warm enough? Is she too warm? Did I feed her when she woke up just now? What time is it? What will happen in a year's time when I have to leave her and go back to work? Will she be able to make friends when she grows up? Will she be kind? Will she ever be able to sleep in her own bed? Would I ever be able to sleep in my own bed again? Why is my husband snoring? How did he sleep through her crying so easily? Does he even understand what I’m feeling right now? Does anyone? What if something happened to me and I wasn’t there for her? Is she still breathing okay? Is she too warm? Did I feed her? Over and over and over again, an exhausting vicious cycle of self-doubt and worry for things that, in that moment, felt like they would stay that way forever.

One night, I had only been asleep for what felt like ten minutes when my daughter woke me from an enjoyable dream. I got out of bed with my eyes half closed, warmed her a bottle of milk and fed her quietly in her nursery, so we didn’t disturb my husband who had work early the next morning, then I settled her back to sleep. I couldn't take my mind off the dream I’d been woken from. Surprisingly, that night she settled quickly, and when I got back in bed, I was desperate to dive back into the very same dream to see how it would end. But no such luck! I lay there wide awake in the dark, while my husband and baby girl slept restfully beside me.

Feeling frustrated and with every loud outbreath my husband made, I could feel the unwanted thoughts begin to flood in. I picked up my phone desperate to immerse myself in something, anything to take my mind off the whirlwind of thoughts. I scrolled through my social media feeds, replied to some messages from the antenatal mums I’d befriended and made ridiculous online Amazon purchases, of things we really didn’t need. Still, nothing seemed to help my brain relax. My mind kept going back to the dream I had just had, wondering how it might have unfolded. Eventually, and for no particular reason, I decided to write the dream down in a notes app on my phone, that I had only really used for shopping lists before. I started by jotting down what I could remember, my thoughts already beginning to fade as I pushed my mind to think about it. Initially, I believed I was starting a dream diary after hearing that some people use them to help them with memory retention or self-reflection. By accident, I continued writing past the point that I had woken up, filling in my own blanks of how the dream might have panned out. After half an hour or so, my eyes began to tire from the brightness of the screen, and I finally gave in to sleep again.

This was the first of many nights where I would stay awake writing, after tending to my daughter. At the time, I didn’t really consider that it might eventually become something more than just a dream diary. After a few weeks of revisiting and revising my notes, I began adding depth and a backstory to the characters I’d created. I found so much joy in taking my mind to another place; it was like my own personal escapism in the darkness of the night. After a few weeks, I had written over ten thousand words, and it began to feel like the beginnings of a well-thought-out narrative, rather than just a rambling personal journal. I felt as though I had a strong idea of how I wanted the story to unfold, and at the time, I didn’t care about what it would become or if I would ever finish it at all.

This was the first of many nights where I wrote down my dreams. At the time, I felt like I was creating a dream diary, not really considering that it might eventually become something more.

At twenty-eight thousand words, I became deeply invested in my newfound hobby. I felt a rush of self-confidence in my ability to put pen to paper, or rather, fingers to screen in my case. I was passionate about the words flowing from my fingertips and eagerly anticipated the night feeds with my little girl, to allow me time to continue writing. Gone were the anxiety-filled nights of self-doubt; now, I felt relaxed and content in the dimly lit room, with my precious baby girl sleeping peacefully on my chest, typing away on my phone and adding to my growing creation.

I didn't tell anyone about what I was working on at this point, nor had I ever planned to. This was just something for me, a way to take my mind away from my own thoughts. As the months went on, staying up for hours each night became unnecessary as our daughter began to settle quicker after her night feed and I found that I was no longer sitting up with her because I needed to, I was doing it because I wanted to. At the time, I hadn’t really realised that it had become an unhealthy habit.

Like with anything concerning babies, nothing remained constant for long. One morning, when she was around four months old, I awoke to the sounds of traffic outside and daylight streaming in through the window. A sudden wave of confusion and panic washed over me as I jumped out of bed to check on her in the cot beside me. To my relief, she was ok and sleeping peacefully, the button on her babygrow gently rising and falling with each breath. And just like that, our little girl was sleeping through the night. Every new parent's dream! 

In the nights that followed, I would lie awake after switching off the light at 10pm, wondering if she would wake and disrupt this newfound routine, if I would ever have another chance to hold her in the night as she slept again. I felt immense joy that we had conquered nighttime sleeping, proud of our parenting achievement, yet there was also a twinge of sadness that those nighttime moments together, just her and I, were already passing by. Looking back now, I cherish the time I spent awake in the early hours of the morning with her. It wasn't just about writing; it was about feeling close to her as she slept, feeling content knowing she was safe, finding peace in the silence of the night and having a break from my overactive mind. 

Many busy, joyful days and peaceful nights of sleep followed, leaving me with little time for myself. I stole moments here and there, during nap times and such, to continue writing when I could, but as the word count grew on my phone and time for me became scarce, doubts crept in about whether it was worth continuing. Yet, the characters and storyline persisted in my mind, and the ideas kept flowing. One afternoon, while my husband and daughter visited grandparents, I retrieved my old laptop that my mum had bought me for Christmas one year, and transferred all the text from my phone onto a document. Seeing it on a larger screen felt strange initially, but a rush of accomplishment swept over me when the word count exceeded fifty thousand. At that moment, I knew I couldn't abandon this project. I began envisioning its potential, with far fetched dreams about it becoming a real life book one day, maybe on the shelf in my local supermarket, or in the window of a book shop, possibly even a bestseller. My mind pushed for the stars, imagining what it would be like to have the characters brought to life on screen if it ever became a film. The ‘what ifs’ consumed me, compelling me to push forward, to see it through to completion, even if only for the personal satisfaction it would bring. Even if it only ever stayed as a completed piece on my laptop, or as an unpublished, unread manuscript gathering dust in a drawer.

The ‘what ifs’ consumed me, compelling me to push forward, to see it through to completion, even if only for the personal satisfaction it would bring.

That night, summoning my courage, I finally shared with my husband what I'd been working on. I felt a little silly and for some strange reason my heart raced as I spoke, but his response was beyond my expectations. He didn't laugh or question my endeavour; instead, he thought it was a fantastic idea and asked when he could read it. His encouragement filled me with renewed confidence. No longer needing to keep it a secret, I would sit comfortably in the evenings and write away while our daughter slept soundly and he enjoyed sports on TV. That same weekend, I confided in my mum too, she has always been my biggest supporter in everything I do, and this was no exception. She wasn't surprised to hear about my newfound passion for writing; and fondly recalled how I used to spend hours writing stories as a little girl and always had such a colourful imagination. Her unwavering belief in me gave me even more confidence to pursue my writing dreams wholeheartedly.

After that, I didn’t look back. Fifty thousand words soon became sixty, then seventy, and eighty. I was captivated by the unfolding story, enthralled in the twists and turns of my characters' lives, savouring every word I typed. A sense of immense pride filled me up, for what this unacademic girl, with low self esteem about her grammar and spelling, who scraped a C in her GCSE’s English exam, had achieved so far, with some determination, self belief and the time to flourish. 

Fast forward to now, March 2024, nine months from when I began writing, with a beautiful, strong-minded, almost ten-month-old keeping me very, very busy, my work is nearing completion. I've yet to diligently go back over what I’ve written and edit each section, but I eagerly look forward to reading it through several times for final edits too. I have kept my endeavours close to my heart, sharing them only with my husband and mum until now. Taking this initial step to share with the world that I’ve been working on something, feels daunting yet thrilling, like I am taking an exhilarating leap into the unknown.

Will it ever be something more than a file on my laptop? Who knows! And does it matter if it isn’t? Not at all! Because I have cherished every moment of writing it so far, and the journey it has taken me on is more valuable than any end result. Writing brings me immense joy, has strengthened my self-belief, and, most importantly, turned nights of turmoil into cherished memories with my beautiful baby girl, that I'll forever hold dear.