Permission To Create Without Training

Photography by Claire Esparros; Styling by Justin DiPiero; Architecture by Kimoy Studios; Design by Neha Ruch

A pillar of the Mother Untitled thesis is that in making room for family life, women can grow alongside. I’ve found my own skill development and personal growth in my patience, perspective, the healing of old bits, and my general state of organization. As my kids spend increasing amounts of time out of the house, I’m left to study this new version of myself. The potential feels promising because the most compelling piece of this new me is the ability to detach from what other people think.

Caring less helped me create more

"Caring less" is a skill I've honed over the past six years of parenting while in close proximity to family. But it has also translated to my lifestyle, creativity, and business. Setting aside other people’s opinions to do what felt authentic and aligned to me started with stepping away from my career in 2016 after having my son. After that big test of my ego, I let myself try my hand at projects and hobbies that I might otherwise felt self conscious to do.

Case and point, this community. When I started Mother Untitled, I could hear the murmurs of friends marveling in surprise when I stepped off the career track to start a “mom blog” (?!). There was so much stigma attached, not only to the career pause but also, the use of time to invest in a passion project (read: a non-money making business). “SAHM,” “passion project,” and “mom blog” each came with their own cute but weirdly weak connotations and caricatures, but on the contrary I felt so much power and freedom in all of it.

Moving past the skeptics

After three years of building the platform, I wanted to write more to circulate the MU perspectives with media. I set up a coffee with a lovely and seasoned journalist. While her advice was helpful, she made clear that I lacked the training to be a “real” writer. After she listed all the different technicals that true journalists are tasked with, I left and called a friend who I knew was contributing incredible content to publications as a side project to her otherwise full-time job. She told me exactly how she did it, offered connections, shared pitches and gave me a pep talk about the worth of my expertise in women in this life stage. I got off that second call and promised to make sure I channeled her when women asked for advice down the line.

It’s not formal training, but it’s real life practice. And something I wanted to get better at. So, I just kept going.

No, I didn’t go to journalism school, but I’ve studied women and consumer behavior for fifteen years, told stories on behalf of brands, and share words on the daily on site and Instagram with thousands of women, collecting their experiences and feedback along the way. It’s not formal training but it’s real life practice. And something I wanted to get better at. So I just kept going, sharing my words on a platform I owned and then slowly in interviews and essays elsewhere, and eventually trusting my own expertise and my time spent to begin charging for freelance contributions. I still see the pretty clear difference between myself and experienced editors but I love words, I believe in what I have to say, and I feel lucky that I live in a time where we can keep learning, keep trying, and keep creating.

Photography by Claire Esparros; Styling by Justin DiPiero; Architecture by Kimoy Studios; Design by Neha Ruch

Letting go of perfect to play

Somewhere around having my second child, we bought our first home which was actually more like a shell that we had to gut and fill with life. It was a project and I wanted to call it mine. To me, it was no different than branding or story telling. I certainly spent enough time vision boarding, stocking up on old Domino mags and following design icons on Instagram to know the pieces, textures, and mood I liked. (Pro tip from Jill Elliot a creative teacher: if you’re looking for your hobby, pop to Instagram to see what accounts you follow, the content you consume leaves clues).

In my late twenties, I had a little apartment that I plastered in wallpaper and branded as feminine sophistication. I zhushed corners with pieces that I found in following Elle Decor city guides to antique in obscure cities like Baltimore. A decade later, I wanted some of that “just for me,” experimental and inspired pastime from my single days. I didn’t want an apartment that looked like Easter threw up in it like the aforementioned bachelorette pad, but I trusted my eye and decided I could do this and, more importantly, that I wanted to.

In the throes of my transition to two kids, pulling inspiration, playing with samples and piecing it all together became my happy place.

I also knew that it would take me five times as long, that I’d question myself a few times over and that I’d need to lean on our architect to help me with technical measurements and limitations (e.g., the sofa that couldn’t actually make it up the stairs). In the throes of my transition to two kids, pulling inspiration, playing with samples and piecing it all together became my happy place.

My home isn’t perfect—there’s a chandelier that is evidence of my lack of technical precision since it’s just a tad too big and I think I ran out of energy by the time we got to our home office—but I had so much fun letting myself play and learning about vendors, materials, design language, and styling. Every corner is still my happy place because I gave myself a chance to create it.

We’re an incredible generation of people who are sometimes written off for being too bold, but I think it’s because we’ve grown up with a bounty of access to knowledge and we’re always consuming but also always creating. I’m working on another renovation as we speak and I’ve already messed up orders and am buried under tracking information that surely professionals would have more organized. It’s not perfect but I choose play. I hope you move past the nay sayer voices, outside or in, and try that thing that is just for you—because looking back it wasn’t just a gutted apartment I brought to life, I came to life too.