Four weeks in: What Happens When a Workaholic Has a Baby

Before I get into things, I just want to say something gently upfront: I’m not writing this because I’m looking for advice. And I really do say that with gratitude, because I know how thoughtful and kind this community is – so many of you genuinely care and want to offer support, and that means a huge amount.

Often when I share these sorts of reflections, people kindly say things like, “Soak up this time,” or “Make sure you don’t burn out,” or “Just rest – the work can wait.” And I hear that. I know it comes from a good place, and I know there’s truth in it.

But this isn’t one of those moments where I need a solution or advice. It’s more that I just want to speak honestly – especially to those of you who might be wired a bit like me. The ones who genuinely love working and thrive on being busy. Who get a bit twitchy without a to-do list. Who find rest far more complicated than it sounds.

This is for the fellow overthinkers, the people who feel most like themselves when they’re knee-deep in a project or with too much on their plate. If that’s you, then you’ll probably get this. And whilst this reflection is about becoming a mother, I hope it is valuable to any fellow workaholics at moments of forced stillness.

So… this is a little update, four weeks into having my first baby, Sasha. And I want to say, right at the beginning, that she is absolutely wonderful – I am completely in love with her. But this isn’t a story about how overwhelmed I am by joy or how blissful newborn life is. It’s a bit messier than that. It’s about what happens when a person like me – someone who thrives on momentum, who plans obsessively, who loves their work – suddenly has to stop. Not for a day. Not for a week. But for an unknown stretch of time.

And I’m realising that’s the hard bit. It’s not stopping, that’s causing me concern – it’s not knowing when I’ll be able to start again.

Sasha was born ten days early, so rather than the two weeks I had planned to get on top of things at home before she came, in fact, I had a matter of days. So as I write, I am now just over a month out of work. For the first couple of weeks of Sasha’s life, it felt oddly manageable. She slept constantly – I now know that’s textbook behaviour for a newborn in recovery from birth, but at the time I thought “gosh, this is easy”. I was cooking meals, making granola, and doing bits of thinking about the US tariff situation (as you do). I even got some drawing and designing done. I felt good, productive and calm. Full of oxytocin, love and gratitude.

As I wrote about before (here), I have prepped the business until mid-September. I’ve lined everything up so that I don’t need to be involved. And yet, somewhere in the back of my mind (which I probably wasn’t really being honest even with myself about), I still had this idea that I’d be able to do a little bit of work – the fun stuff, the creative bits. I’d intentionally saved new design projects, imagining I’d have the odd nap window to quietly design or sew. We have a photoshoot lined up for early September, and I was secretly convinced I’d have some new things I could show the team then, created during maternity leave.

The first fortnight made me think I’d been right. I had space, time and wasn’t sleep deprived. I went out to galleries, hosted friends for dinner, and finished a book for the first time in years. I even said to my mum she didn’t need to stay with us as long as originally planned, as I was on top of everything and thought it was important for me to build confidence in looking after a baby alone. My husband went back to work after a week so we could save his leave for when I need him more, and I was going it totally solo from 5 days after getting out of hospital. It was a bit wild! But then, about two weeks in, Sasha woke up – and the illusion of control ended.

What they don’t tell you – or maybe they do, and I just didn’t believe them – is that newborns tend to become a lot more aware around 10 to 14 days in. They have a sudden realisation that they aren’t in the womb anymore and their needs aren’t being met on demand. They discover their voice, and with that comes fussiness. Sasha suddenly doesn’t want to be put down, she wants to feed - then spit-it-up a bit – then feed again. Some naps are 30 minutes, some are 3 hours. Some nights she stays awake for hours in a constant cycle of feed, nappy change, cuddle, feed… Everything has started taking more time and is less predictable, and suddenly I can’t guarantee how long I have to do anything.

So the whole day sometimes feels like a rolling cycle – feed, cuddle, change, and that means the windows of “free time” I’d relied on – the ones I thought I could use for making things – have shrunk or disappeared. Or worse, they are there, but I don’t trust them enough to start anything meaningful. Because what’s the point of getting everything out if you have to put them away five minutes later?

And so I did the things you can do in short, uncertain nap windows. I watched TV. I read another book. I stared mindlessly at my phone. But instead of feeling like rest, it started to feel like waste. Like I was squandering this time I’d been so sure I’d use well.

Here’s the odd part. It’s not guilt about Sasha. I don’t feel bad for loving my work. I’m not conflicted about wanting time to myself. Sasha is getting what she needs and more – she’s so loved and she is thriving.

The guilt is that I have time – but I’m not using it well. I’m not doing anything meaningful. I’m not making progress on the fun projects I’d hoped to touch. I’m not helping the business (which doesn’t need me anyway). I’m just… floating. And I’m not good at floating. I’m good at doing. And so I feel frustrated, not because I’m failing at anything, but because I’m sitting still.

And the worst part? It’s not even constant stillness. There are several hours in a day – if you added them up – where I could technically get something done. But they’re broken into unpredictable chunks. I don’t know when they’re coming or how long they’ll last. And that is the bit that’s making me unravel slightly. I’m used to squeezing an enormous amount into tiny timeframes – give me two hours and I’ll design you a range! But I need to know what the timeframe is. I need control. And right now, I have none.

Against this backdrop of frustrated stillness, unsettled sleep and half-started TV shows, something mildly ridiculous is happening: the business is having its best summer ever. As I write this, it’s the 9th of August and we’ve already made more than we did in the whole of August last year. We’ve had some great press, and our ads are ticking along brilliantly. Whilst there has been some uptick in US orders as customers get ahead of the tariffs coming in, the majority of our sales growth is actually first-time UK customers, which is brilliant! For some reason, we aren’t seeing the seasonal summer drop-off we have in other years.

The team are flying. Georgina’s running operations, Jen and Meg are managing all the marketing and studio membership, and Izzy, Esme and Joanne are keeping on top of not only current order volume but also Christmas prep. In short, the studio’s doing fine without me. Things are moving forward without any involvement from me – and that is, on paper, exactly what I wanted.

I’ve worked tirelessly towards this for five years. I’ve built a team, developed a product range, put in the systems, designed the structure, and now it’s working – without me. Which should feel like an achievement. And it does. But it also feels weird. Because if the business is fine… and Sasha’s fine… then why do I feel so lost?

Here’s the thing. I’m not burnt out. I’m not forcing myself to work out of obligation. No one is asking me to go have a quick look at the emails, but I desperately want to. I send the team irritating voice notes saying “just checking you are okay!”, to which they say – “relax, we are fine”. The issue is I like working.

I’ve always been like this - when I was 16 and got GCSE results that disappointed no one but myself, I remember making a very private, very serious vow to not feel like this again. I’ve always worked hard and put everything I can into what I do, because I don’t want to ever feel like I could’ve done more. When I had the initial telephone interview for my first job after university, I literally papered my room with post-it notes of every possible question that could come up. I over-prepare for everything. I work obsessively. I find comfort in effort. No one has ever had to persuade me to put effort in, this is just the way both my sister and I are wired – no doubt through seeing just how much work our parents put in. Believe me, it exasperates me, my husband and family at times – how much we would just like me to chill out at times – but this is how I am wired and it's served me pretty well so far in life.

So, even though I said I was taking this time off, and I meant it – I also had a quiet plan in my head. I wanted to get one launch in before Christmas. Not because I needed to, but because I wanted to. Because it would make me feel like myself. It would satisfy something in me that has nothing to do with pressure or obligation and everything to do with creative fulfilment – and yes, a little bit of ego. I had a goal to match last year’s overall business growth. Not because we have to, but because I’d like to – that ambition is nothing to be ashamed of.

But now, with five big new projects on the horizon – some collaborative, some in-house, all ambitious – I’m having to accept that the timelines are slipping. That the things I wanted to have ready for our early September shoot probably won’t be ready. That the kit I’d hoped to launch this autumn might not happen until next year. And that makes me feel… off. I know how popular these launches will be when they do come – and they aren’t trend-driven, so the timing really doesn’t matter. But the unknown timing is just slightly disoriented. Like I’ve lost the map.

Here’s the thing I keep trying to remind myself: this frustration isn’t a bad sign. It’s not something to feel guilty about. In fact, it’s kind of the opposite. It’s a reminder that I want to work. That I love what I do. That even in the middle of this huge life shift – probably the biggest one I’ll ever have – I haven’t stopped wanting to make things. That drive hasn’t gone anywhere.

And that’s what I’m trying to get my head around. Not pushing the frustration away, but just accepting that it’s part of this. I don’t need to beat myself up for feeling it or question whether this means I am a bad mother. It’s just how I’m built. I’m not a naturally still person. I never have been. I function better when I’ve got too much on, not too little. I come from a family of people who go on cycling holidays for fun – we don’t do lounging.

So of course, I’m finding this difficult. Of course, I’m restless. And the fact that I’m feeling this way – even while Sasha is still so tiny, even while the business is running smoothly – is probably just confirmation that none of this was ever about external pressure. It’s just who I am.

So now, I’m trying to hold two things at once. On the one hand, I need to let go for a little while. Just take the pressure off, knowing this is a short phase. These first six weeks were always going to be the hardest bit – and I allowed for that, even if I didn’t totally believe myself at the time. This is what I prepared for. So in order to enable myself to focus on Sasha and to still feel momentum, I am trading work with trips – heading up to my parents in Yorkshire, or making the most of Harry’s two weeks' paternity leave to go out to Switzerland. I am changing location so I don’t feel too still.

And on the other hand, when things do start to settle, I have to let myself come back to work. My mum is only too willing to be there to support me in making that happen – to help me find those guaranteed pockets of time so I can get stuck back in. Not because I need to prove anything, but because this will make me feel good.

I know the time is coming – not years from now, but probably in a matter of weeks or a couple of months – where I’ll call on the amazing support I have, to get a bit more predictability, and a couple of hours to myself here and there. And when that time comes, I’m not going to feel guilty for using it to work.

So no, I’m not launching anything new this month. I might not launch anything before Christmas (see how I am still not totally accepting that with the use of the word “might”). I don’t know when the next thing is coming. But I sure am excited for it when it does!