When the roles change, who are you?

When the Roles Change, Who Are You?

Have you ever thought that having more time would feel like a gift? A reward for all the years spent juggling motherhood, teaching, caregiving, and keeping a creative dream barely afloat on the back burner.

Now your life has shifted; some roles are winding down, others are evolving, and you say to yourself, 'I'm left with space.' And space, it turns out, can be both freeing and unnerving.

Midlife has a way of holding up a mirror and asking:

"Who are you now?"

Not the mom, aka the kid's taxi driver. Not the teacher in the classroom. Not the one organizing birthday parties or managing doctor appointments. Not the one attending every school event while also coordinating the. I'm not the one cooking and doing laundry for 6.

Just… you.

The answer? It's tender. It's real. And if you're like me, it doesn't come with a clear answer right away.

Because here's the honest truth: life doesn't get simpler when the schedule clears. If anything, it gets more confronting. Especially when you're trying to build something from your heart.

 

Much easier. Sure, teaching and other outside jobs come with their own chaos, but at least they have a schedule. And someone else makes me follow that schedule and rules. Now? I'm figuring out how to structure a day that no one else is managing for me. There's freedom… and a lot of unknowns.

 

Emails, blog posts, product launches, social media, tutorial recordings, edits. And yes, I also have to paint, photograph it all, and send it out into the world while somehow convincing myself I'm not just playing dress-up with paintbrushes all day.

I'm navigating this midlife space when you're not in school, not homeschooling, but also not retired, and suddenly, having time feels like a prank. You wake up at 5 a.m., blink, and it's 2 p.m. You realize you've listened to six podcasts and replied to seventeen emails but haven't touched supplies. The things that used to feel like play now demand planning, intention, and accountability.

It hums under your skin: Who am I now that I'm not teaching? That soft ache isn't just a weird longing for lunchtime hall duty; it might be your creative soul gently tapping you on the shoulder, saying, "Remember me?"

In my own chaotic studio life (paint splatters on my overalls, fairy lights above my desk, cups of half‑cold coffee scattered around), I'm learning to slow‑dance with that ache to give it space. I'm leaning into art snacks like those I wrote about before, tiny creative moments that help me stay connected even when schedules feel like a lie.

Here's how I'm scheduling for a creative mid-life:

Morning Intentions

• Coffee & 10-minute paint scribble time in my journal. It's not perfect; it's hardly ever finished. But it's mine.

Late Afternoon Play

• Walk the dog in paint-stained burks around our property. Cut some flowers, check the garden. Squeeze in a session of writing or reading on my front porch before dinner. Yes, the cooking responsibilities have returned with two boys home for the month.

Day‑End Reflection

• A quick jot in my planner/ journal: What did I actually do today? And What do I have to do tomorrow? This time, my favorite pen helps fight the creeping impostor voice that says I wasted the day "failing at business stuff."

Is it perfect? Absolutely not. But it's a framework, and it's enough this week; it's like giving your creative self a friendly pat on the back and whispering, "I see you. I'm trying."

Humor to lighten the gloom

Let's be real; this all sounds dramatic. But it's also hilarious. I used to rush around the school, dancing and chatting with every person I passed in the hallway, adrenaline pumping. Now I wander into my studio wondering if I should swatch out every acrylic paint I own or maybe color‑code them by mood. (Turns out, both seem wasteful.)

There is a tendency to procrastinate that comes with the creative mind. My list of desires far supersedes my time, and don't even get me started on Zoom calls where my to‑do list is three times longer than their meeting time. Business life is an absolute hoot; I often have to laugh at myself.

Some days, I say sarcastically to myself: "Look at you, grown‑up running a business. Aren't you proud?" And then I cry into my coffee because apparently "proud" is emotionally overwhelming now. Seriously!

Holding the ache of feeling lost

If you're reading this and nodding along, you may feel the same. Heck, your hands may be covered in paint as well. Feeling insecure in this season isn't a sign of brokenness; it's a sign that you are real. And my sweet soul sister, it's not just you. I've noticed in my own creative community that the soft ache, the rumble just beneath the surface, is becoming louder for many of us . I adore these ladies I meet with each week; we are certainly cut from the same cloth.

They've taught me it's okay to say, ' I feel lost.' I want to find me again. And it's not even a cliché - it's a declaration.

You don't have to move mountains. You just have to give yourself permission to begin again. A mark on the page, a paint smudge, a scribbled word, a torn scrap of paper, these things matter. They're threads that help you stitch together who you are when teaching, parenting, and living life - it takes a step back.

I invite you to come find yourself again.

If your creative soul is leaning forward, whispering for a chance to say yes. If you really just need to begin painting, drawing, and playing in color again, I'm inviting you to something gentle:

The Wild‑Hearted Reset. Join me and many other women like you in this free 5-day creative soul reboot designed to help you remember your spark (even if it's faint). It's not about doing more. It's about doing what matters and what makes your inner creative soul sing!

Download your free Wild-Hearted Reset Ebook today and start creating.

👉 Sign up for Wild‑Hearted Reset here

Let's start again together.

With paint under my nails and curiosity in my heart,

xo,  Amy