“I nearly forgot I was a person.” Somewhere in the middle of 16 years of diapers and dishes, meals and messes, lesson plans and laundry, I misplaced myself. Charlotte Mason once wrote, “If mothers could learn to do for themselves what they do for their children when these are overdone, we should have happier households. Let the mother go out to play” (Charlotte Mason, School Education). But I had long since forgotten what play even looked like for me.
Reading Leah Boden’s Modern Miss Mason has been like hearing an echo of something my soul already knew but had buried under responsibility: play isn’t frivolous, it’s sanctuary. It awakens wonder, refreshes our souls, and guards us from idolizing our role as mothers. As Boden writes, it “awakens our intellect, provokes our sense of wonder, and refreshes our souls” (Modern Miss Mason).
I want to be clear: I’m not writing this as someone who has mastered the balance. I’m still fumbling toward it. Still choosing (or failing to choose) restoration over scrolling, soul-space over productivity. This post is as much a reminder to myself as it is an invitation to you.
Learning Not to Live Someone Else’s Story
Boden reminds us, “We can’t keep attempting to live someone else’s homeschool journey if we’re going to embrace our own.” That truth has been quietly reshaping me. For years, I tried to follow other people’s rhythms and systems, convinced I was doing it wrong or not trying hard enough if mine looked different.
Now, I’m learning to pull what works, release what doesn’t, and shift as needed. This year, that means building two-week “soul-shift” breaks into our year. These aren’t empty weeks, but refreshing ones. Right now we’re doing our Bible, Breakfast and Beauty time and reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream through Read-Aloud Revival’s edition in the mornings. In the afternoons, we are leaning into Wild + Free projects—painting rocks, sewing tic-tac-toe bags, and searching (unsuccessfully, but joyfully) for frog eggs, enjoying free time to allow space for boredom and creativity, and continuing our math lessons. Right now, as I write, my daughter is out fishing; my son is pacing with his boredom, which I know will eventually give birth to creativity. And I? I’ve been writing and plan to continue learning to crochet—letting my soul breathe.
Rest vs. Zoning Out
I used to collapse into Netflix or scrolling endlessly to rest. But I’m beginning to see the difference between zoning out and restoration. Psalm 23 has been shaping me here: “He restores my soul.” That kind of rest is what I would call actively passive — the Shepherd guides, and I follow. He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside still waters. My part is to trust and to go where He leads, and in that surrender He restores my soul. For me, this has looked like learning to stop scrolling endlessly on my phone so I can actually notice the green pastures and still waters He is leading me to. I still scroll, but with more intentionality now, and I guard parts of my day where I refuse to use my phone in that way. Out of that margin, I’ve found space for journaling, gratitude lists, morning Bible reading, walking outside, reading books that spark joy (Aggressively Happy, Modern Miss Mason), or swinging in a hammock under the moon — small ways of yielding space for Him to refresh me. These simple practices are ways I am choosing restoration over numbing.
Showing My Children What ‘Life Awake’ Looks Like
Perhaps the most sobering realization is this: if my children only ever see me exhausted, frazzled, and joyless, what picture of adulthood will they carry with them? Burnout? Duty without delight? That is not the story I want to hand them.
When they see me crocheting, writing, walking, riding horses with my husband, moving my body in care instead of punishment, or simply watching the stars, they learn that life doesn’t stop at adulthood. They see that mothers — like children — are born persons too, with minds, hearts, and souls worth tending.
Choosing to Live Awake
I’ve begun calling this way of showing up Living Awake — choosing to be a whole person, alive to beauty, rooted in God, and willing to play. It isn’t about perfection or curated hobbies; it’s about refusing to shrink into exhaustion or numbness.
Charlotte Mason once said, “Life should be all living, and not merely a tedious passing of time.” That vision encouraged me to name this way of showing up for myself. Living Awake is my reminder that adulthood isn’t the end of delight — it’s another beginning.
Charlotte Mason’s words have become a benediction for me: Let the mother go out to play. When I lean into that — even inconsistently — the whole atmosphere of my home shifts.
🌿 Living Awake
Friend, linger here a moment before you move on. Let these words invite you to wake up a little more fully this week:
- Write down one thing you’d love to learn, create, or try — for you, not your children.
- Choose a pocket of time to play: open a novel, paint, plant something, swing in the hammock.
- Ask yourself: What picture of adulthood am I giving my children? Then take one small step to make that picture more alive.
Small acts matter. Each little step is a seed, and when planted, it can grow into a life more awake, more joyful, and more whole. Let’s take one together this week — practicing, stumbling, and waking up side by side. And if you feel brave, share in the comments or on social media how you are choosing to Live Awake, or one way you hope to this week. Your story may be the nudge another weary soul needs.
If you share on social media, feel free to tag it with #LivingAwake so we can find and encourage one another.
Delight & Savor 