Creative motherhood: the juggle, the joy and the cost

Every creative mother knows the feeling of being split in two: pulled towards the work that lights her up, and the child who needs her completely.

It’s not a new conflict. Across industries and generations, women have struggled to balance ambition, income, identity and family.

There are unique challenges for all mothers trying to reintegrate their work lives after having children. How do you manage childcare if you have to work a night shift? How do you keep up the income you bring into the home without losing all that precious time with your kids? Can I still do this job the way I used to, after a year off?

And creative mothers have their own particular concerns.

Who can cover me while I go into the city for a ten-minute audition, which might take me all morning to get to and from? Can I fit in a self-tape while she naps? How do I manage rehearsals? Tech week? Can I miss bedtime six nights a week for three weeks? Can I get enough uninterrupted time to get into the flow? Can I pump on set? Can I have my baby on set? Can I have a support person on set? Could I truly, possibly, actually consider going on tour right now? Is it still practical to pursue my creative goals if they aren’t bringing in a steady income?

Thoughts like these swirled through my head as my husband and I made the decision to start a family.

I remember, once we knew we were expecting, feeling nervous to tell my agents. Would they be okay with me taking the inevitable time off?

I should have known better. That agency is a team of women, all mothers. It’s one of the things that drew me to sign with them in the first place. Instead of concern, they were full of kind words and congratulations, and they felt the expanded life experience could only make me a better actor.

Similarly, I had an acting teacher I greatly admire, Les Chantery, say to me, “Watch out! Sometimes actors become mums, and next thing they start booking!”

And during my first pregnancy, I was on fertile ground — in more ways than one. As we ticked through the months toward the arrival of our baby boy, I had a powerful deadline.

I also felt more creative than I ever had. If I could create a whole person from scratch, writing a scene would feel easy.

I was writing every day, pumping out projects, finishing things. In the final weeks of my pregnancy, I had meetings booked with all my creative collaborators. They all wanted final check-ins, deliverables, and goal-setting. They wanted to know the plan.

And then my son arrived, and my world shifted on its axis.

He demanded my attention in an urgent way. His need for me was undeniable. You can’t just sit down to write when your baby is crying and needs to be fed. And while I longed to be creative, an incredibly deep, powerful, biological part of me was ready to throw everything else away just to be there: to stare at him, feed him, cuddle him, and chat to this tiny, perfect miracle I had grown.

For a time, being his mum was all I had the capacity to do.

I honestly couldn’t see how I would ever be able to fit in all the other things I used to do.

And then, bit by bit, I learned to integrate.

I started auditioning again. Tentative, baby steps back towards the old me. But soon I was surprised to find that auditions became easier. I had a higher priority at home, and this tiny moment in my day didn’t matter as much as I used to think it did. That mindset freed me up.

My acting coach Les was right. When my first baby was 16 weeks old, I finally booked my first professional gig after years of auditioning.

Fast forward to a year later, and I was touring with a baby strapped to my chest. We were up and down on over 70 flights before he turned two. We took him to six cities on an international tour — New York, New Zealand and all around Australia.

Parts of this experience felt joyous and triumphant. I was doing it. I was doing it all. Look at me juggling.

I remember pumping in the theatre during bump-in, and my husband coming down to collect the bags of milk. My baby crawled around on the stage floor while we bumped in, and the whole team took turns fending him off from falling off the edge, or from touching screws and hammers and bits of wood strewn around as we built the set.

In this season, I felt I was “doing it all”.

And absolutely, yes, sometimes the juggling pins tumbled to the ground. Sometimes I crumpled in a heap on top of them.

I remember being in New York, meeting my incredibly supportive parents and husband — who had travelled a long way and uprooted their own lives to be there for me — at a cafe so I could cuddle and feed my baby in a quick lunch break during rehearsals. I felt incredibly torn. As I handed my baby back to his loving dad and rushed back to the theatre for our final dress rehearsal, my heart was breaking. I could not have felt less like the character I was meant to be playing: untethered, free-willed, cheeky and charismatic. I didn’t feel like an actor at all.

While I’ve relished wearing multiple hats — producing, writing and acting in my own work — on this day, I wanted to take them all off.

Luckily, I had surrounded myself with a team of supportive women. After a quick dressing-room cry and a hug, I pulled myself together and delivered the dress rehearsal.

We rolled out the tour, performed the show night after night in different cities, and found our own version of routine. Each night, when I would curl my hair in preparation for the show, my little boy would know I was going soon. He would start to cry and cling to my leg.

The juggle stretched me, tested me and sometimes made me doubt myself. And alongside those challenging moments, I discovered a capacity within myself that was greater than I could have imagined.

Because creative mothers are endlessly inventive. We come up with third and fourth solutions. We think outside the box. We adapt, recalibrate, surrender, try again. We surprise people.

And sometimes, along the way, we surprise ourselves too.