When Your Whole World Shrinks to the Kitchen and the Kids.
“My son loves helping me cook. Which is adorable, if you define ‘helping’ as using a whisk as a lightsaber and pretending it’s snowing with flour. Meanwhile, I’m wearing yesterday’s bra and pretending I know what dinner is. Living. The. Dream.”
When your whole world fits between the school run and snack time.
After eight years of singing the Days of the Week song to four-year-olds while being sneezed on and emotionally blackmailed with stick drawings, I quit teaching. No exit strategy. No bold new career path. No “pivot to wellness coaching” lined up. Just… done.
Somewhere between a cross-country move, my mum passing, and my son’s ADHD symptoms lighting up my guilt like a dashboard on fire, I hit the wall. Correction: I cartwheeled into the wall while riding a unicycle blindfolded, juggling flaming swords made of anxiety and half-eaten chicken nugget.
So I did the only logical thing: I resigned. Dramatically. No five-year plan, just five-day-old dry shampoo and the faint scent of emotional burnout. It wasn’t brave. It was survival. And also slightly unhinged. But mostly survival.
I told myself I was putting my son first. That life would be simpler. Slower. Gentler. I pictured wholesome moments of mindful parenting and finally catching up on sleep, laundry, and maybe, maybe... myself. Spoiler alert: I did not. What actually happened was that my world shrank to the size of our kitchen and the kids a Groundhog Day loop of snacks, spills, and soul-searching over the recycling bin.
Yes, I was more present for my son’s needs including the 3 a.m. interpretive sleep-dancing but in the process, I kind of misplaced me. Somewhere between the grief, the sensory overload, and the endless snack requests, I became a background character in my own life. Just a pair of legs walking around holding a laundry basket, wondering if it’s normal to cry in Lidl.
“Somewhere between the sand, the sea, and his sticky little hand in mine. I started to remember who I was outside the chaos.”
From reheating coffee five times to refereeing snack wars. Welcome to the glamorous life of a kitchen-bound CEO (Chief Everything Officer).
Let’s get one thing straight: motherhood is beautiful but sometimes it feels like you’ve been accidentally enrolled in a full-time course called “How to Survive in a 3-Mile Radius Without Screaming.” There was a time you roamed the Earth freely, popping into shops, lingering over café menus, having conversations with actual adults. Now? Your world is smaller than your toddler’s sock drawer. You’re either in the kitchen, cleaning the kitchen, or trying to leave the kitchen while someone shouts “Muuuuum!” from the depths of another room. If you’re a stay-at-home mum or more accurately, a stay-everywhere-except-alone mum and it feels like your universe has shrunk to sippy cups, snack negotiations, and school runs... this one’s for you.
How to Reclaim Space When Your Life Feels Tiny
1. Create a “No Kids Allowed” Corner
Not a whole room just a corner. A chair, a blanket, a book, a biscuit you didn’t have to share. Label it if you must. Protect it like it’s a crime scene. This is your mental breathing space, even if it’s just for 7 minutes while Paw Patrol runs interference.
2. Make Plans That Don’t Involve Snacks or Screens
Once a week, plan something just for you. A walk. A class. Browsing the aisles of B&M like it’s a luxury holiday. The trick is: no kids. No guilt. No multitasking. Just one little act that reminds you there’s a world out there that doesn’t smell like fish fingers.
3. Use Your Voice Somewhere That Isn’t Just Nagging
Start journaling. Join a forum. Send voice notes to another mum who gets it. Say something out loud that isn’t, “Put your shoes on for the last time!” Your voice deserves to be heard outside the echo chamber of your hallway.
4. Dress Like You’re Going Somewhere (Even If You’re Not)
No one’s asking for a red carpet moment but wearing real trousers and a bra that doesn’t double as a nursing relic can do wonders. Swipe on some mascara. Earrings, even! Trick your brain into thinking you're a woman with somewhere to be… besides the laundry pile.
5. Romanticise the Hell Out of Your Coffee
This isn’t just a cuppa. This is a sacred ritual. Light a candle, use the fancy mug, stare out the window like you’re in a slow-burning drama about a woman rediscovering herself. Sip slowly. Pretend you’re being filmed for a documentary called “She Nearly Snapped, But Didn’t.”
Final Thoughts: You're Not Boring. You’re Tired.
If you've started to feel like you don't have anything interesting to say unless it's about who pooped and when, let me stop you right there. You are not boring. You're just overstimulated, under-appreciated, and out here doing 400 unpaid jobs before noon. Your world has shrunk not your worth. Sometimes we confuse “small” with “insignificant.” But what you're doing every day in that tiny orbit? It's huge. It's life-shaping. And it still matters even if no one's clapping when you finally find the missing LEGO piece or remember everyone's PE kit on the right day.
If you’ve laughed, nodded, or shouted “SAME!” at your screen while reading this and you’d like to help fund my caffeine-fuelled therapy (also known as writing) you can now officially buy me a coffee. Your support would mean the absolute world… and might just cover the next flat white I drink in peace. Maybe. If the stars align.
Go on, be the hero my coffee cup deserves ☕👇
Love,
Diane x
PS: Still figuring it out, still winging it. Still mildly traumatised from that one Christmas I channelled Nigella and attempted a chocolate train with my son. It was like baking with a sugar-high octopus wearing oven mitts." But hey, we’re doing our best! And that’s enough for me.