Confessions of a writer, with children


I am in a hurry to write.

So I write columns, blogs and essays.

They are short and easy to produce.

They are quick gratification.


They gratify because they fill my need to write,

and because they can be put out there immediately –

not in a year or in ten years, but tomorrow.


Putting it out there brings validation.

From people who like it and tell me so.

From the working world in which I have briefly taken part.


I seek validation because I need to be doing something

other than these kids.

I was not born to be a stay-at-home mother.

I don’t need validation about the kids.

I need it about me, beyond the kids.


Validation comes in the form of “likes,” “shares,”  and compliments.

It comes in the form of contact about my writing

from a sphere beyond the children.

It also comes through publication and payment.


It’s a panicked cycle in which I have found myself.

I am in a rush to write in the periphery of my main job, four children.

I am only frustrated by the rush.


But I am actually frustrated by the fulcrum.

The children side is weighed down with hours.


Writing needs hours and hours and hours.

Certainly all the projects I have in my mind, all my ambitions.

If I could act on all of them, I’d write full time and

I’d probably be earning money with it.


In other words, I’d feel validated for what I do – beyond the kids.




Well, here’s validation.


You are not un-emancipated,

whatever the world

and other women might think.



You are doing this to help these kids

grow into secure and self-sufficient people.

You are doing this so that they know

they were deeply loved.


God will work out the writing.


If you are patient and trust God,

you will still be able to care for the kids

and write, publish and earn.


On the days you doubt that, put down this:

When God created you, he created a writer.

When you write, you plug in to the divine.

Writing for you is not prayer, but it is like prayer.

Writing for you is an act of listening.

You are listening to Something.


This is your charge.


So seek ye first the kingdom and his righteousness.

Then all these things will be added unto you.


So dare to make time to first seek the kingdom.


On the days that you wonder if that kingdom

is a make-believe castle in the sky,

dare to make time to find the Holy Quiet.


Because the dichotomy of writing and kids,

sans Holy Quiet,

will make you crazy.


Because the dichotomy of writing and kids,

sans Holy Quiet,

will make you mean and angry,

which defeats the purpose of

why you chose to care for your kids in the first place.


Because when you deliberately seek Holy Quiet –

a quiet without kids (easy peasy)

and writing (ack, gulp, tick-tock) –

you will find deeper magic of the Narnian kind.


You will find, for a few minutes a day,

the peace that you, as a writer, need.


And you will hear a still voice, Aslan’s,

who will tell you what you have to do

to take care of the kids

and also write, publish and earn.


Because writing without God would still make you crazy.


If you are a clanging symbol, but you have not love, you have nothing.


Go in peace.



© 2014 Anastasia Hacopian





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