Little Habits That Save My Sanity as a Mum and Freelancer
My toddler was in a full-blown tantrum over a banana, and I just stood there thinking, “Is this it now?”
Freelancing accompanied by parenthood is half humour, half chaos. It’s switching between deadlines and snack requests, half-hitting reply emails with one hand and holding back spilling cereal with the other. There isn’t a how-to book, just small things that make a difference. Not grand solutions, just enough to keep the whole system from collapsing. It’s imperfect but just barely okay, and quite honestly, that’s a victory.
Morning Triage (A.K.A. List Before Scroll)
Before I glance at my phone, I write down three things that truly must be done. The fantasy list isn’t the one I wrote. It may be “email Sophie, do a wash, send out the invoice.” It’s strangely centring. It’s like saying to your brain, “Here’s where we start, not someone else’s breakfast smoothie schedule.”
I have a strong scrolling reflex, but if I manage, the morning begins with clarity rather than comparisons. That little list? It’s kept me from spiralling countless times. It doesn’t eliminate the chaos, but it allows me to carry it. And there’s something so reassuring in the knowledge that I have a plan, even if it’s a crayon scrawl on a receipt.
A Basket Of Laundry In Each Room
I once thought laundry went into the utility. Ha! Now there’s a basket in each bedroom. The hallway has one, too. Ridiculous, I know, but I’m not scrambling under beds or digging around anymore looking for socks. The children know where to put it. A small victory that has revolutionised everything.
Laundry never has to be glamorous, but I’ll choose function over fashion any time. These baskets? They’re permission slips in visual form. It’s acceptable that your home is lived in. It’s acceptable that you’re not folding everything like a drill sergeant. Just having somewhere to dump everything? That’s half the battle.
Fifteen Minutes Of ‘Fake Tidy’
Following lunch, I put on a 15-minute timer. Not to deep clean, not to Marie Kondo the house—simply to have a ‘fake tidy.’ Toys in baskets, cushions fluffed, dishes out of sight. It’s not lovely, but it resets the energy levels of the house. It also prevents the 5 pm meltdown where everything gets too overwhelming, and I just want to hide in the loo.
There’s a weirdly therapeutic quality to things getting put in order, if just briefly. It’s not aesthetics, it’s control, even if that control is illusory. Fifteen minutes provides me with just enough space to tackle the rest of the afternoon with a little less eye-twitching.
‘Done’ Instead Of ‘Perfect’
I’ve relinquished the expectation of Pulitzer material before I press publish. I write, I edit, I trust. Being a parent has emboldened me to be okay with imperfection. My clients value that it’s on time and useful far more than that it’s comma-perfect.
Same with dinners. Scrambled eggs and toast with a side of cherry tomatoes. The kids don’t complain. The toast gets dipped into them, and they call it “dippy dinner.” The thing is, perfect is tiring and untenable. Done is a step forward, and a step is peace, wobbly as it seems.
A Daily Walk By Myself If I Can
Even just to the shop and back, I walk each day. No errands, no podcasts. Just air, wood, and a chance to not be needed. It’s like a reset button for my mind. I’ve had entire conversations with myself on those walks. Worked out a thorny client problem. I ruminated on how to say no without apologising for existing.
It’s incredible how the brain operates when the body is in motion. Those outdoor moments, even on a damp day, are like little breaks from the mental workload.
Calendar Blocking With Wiggle Room
On Sunday evening, I glance over the coming week and loosely schedule in blocks of time. School pickups, writing sessions, pitch deadlines, dinner plans. I always make sure to leave space. Real life isn’t too concerned with colour-coding calendars.
It’s where I make room for naps (for me or the toddler), meltdowns out of nowhere, or just those moments where I’m not going full speed. It’s not laziness, it’s survival.
Grouping Tasks By Mood, Not Just Type
I used to categorise by type, emails, writing, and admin. Now, I sort by energy. If I’m chatty, I call. Low energy? I edit. Fiery? I pitch. It’s much better than trying to force productivity when your brain isn’t cooperating.
Respecting my energy has influenced how I work more than any productivity hack ever could.
A Cleaner Home Without Me Cleaning Everything
One day, I’ll be the sort of person who pays for commercial cleaning services so I can write instead of cleaning around radiators. For now, we do the “zones” system where everyone gets a small area that’s their own to clean, even the kids.
Is it always done correctly? Of course not. But it builds a habit, gives the kids a sense of ownership, and gives me a moment to breathe.
The ‘No’ List
You’ve heard of to-do lists. I keep a “don’t list.” I don’t check emails after 7 pm. I don’t answer messages over dinner. I don’t accept any bake sale or WhatsApp group.
Boundaries don’t need to be dramatic, they just need to exist. This small list is my oxygen. Saying no has become one of the most freeing, quietly powerful habits I’ve built into my week. It’s not about being inflexible; it’s about recognising that my time and energy are limited and sacred. I don’t owe everyone access to me all the time. There are entire hours, sometimes even whole days, where I deliberately choose not to be ‘available.’ And that’s okay. I’ve stopped explaining myself when I say no to things that aren’t aligned with my capacity. If I don’t want to join a Zoom coffee chat or bake six dozen cupcakes for school, I simply don’t. I no longer feel the pull to justify, compensate, or over-explain.
The surprising thing? Life goes on. Relationships survive. And I’m saner for it. Saying no isn’t rejection, it’s redirection. It’s creating space for what truly matters: my family, my work, my rest, and the parts of me that are more than a checklist. That little “don’t list” keeps me honest, grounded, and centred in a world that’s always demanding more.
Laughing At It All Eventually
The toddler smeared the cat with yoghurt last week. I cried. I laughed. I snapped a photo and cried again.
That’s how life is, isn’t it? It’s not just sweet moments and cute Instagram quotes. It’s chaos and cuddles, and deadlines and dippy dinners. And we’re doing better than we give ourselves credit for. Sometimes, the laughter is delayed, but it always arrives, usually when you’re cleaning yoghurt out of cat fur at 10 pm and wondering what on earth your life has become. Those are the moments that remind you you’re alive, that things are messy and weird and wonderful. And that’s more than enough. And just when you think you’ve reached your limit, your toddler says something completely ridiculous or hugs you sticky and tight, and it undoes all the stress in a second. We cry because we care. We laugh because we must. And sometimes, those two things happen so close together they’re impossible to separate. That’s where real life lives, in the overlap.
Accepting Help (Even When You’d Prefer To Do It Yourself)
I used to pride myself on doing it all. But when someone offers help now, I say yes. No justifications. No guilt. Just yes.
Accepting help doesn’t make me weak, it makes me wise. It gives me time to think, to rest, to just sit quietly with a cup of tea. And that’s what makes me better at showing up. It also reminds me that help doesn’t diminish my capability, it enhances my capacity to be fully present. Those small offers of support ripple outward and multiply in ways we rarely notice but deeply feel.
Not Everything Needs Fixing
I’ve stopped trying to fix every single thing. Not every tantrum, not every crumb trail, not every unread email. Some things can just sit. They’re not ignored, they’re just not urgent.
This weird kind of freedom has lightened my home and my mind. This shift didn’t happen overnight. It came slowly, through tired evenings and early morning chaos, when I realised I was pouring myself into things that didn’t actually matter. Now, I try to ask myself, “Will this still feel important tomorrow?” If not, I let it go. It’s a quiet rebellion against burnout and a gentle way of giving myself some grace.
Felicitating The Small Victories
If the kids eat what I make without complaints, or I make it to school on time (with shoes on), I count it. Perhaps I didn’t win a client today, but I kept it together, and that’s enough.
Small wins matter. They add up. They keep us going when everything else feels like too much; those little wins remind us we’re doing better than we think. Even the smallest success, like managing a complete sentence before interruption, can be the thing that gets us through.
This is a collaborative post.
