“I’m frustrated with this book. It’s not going deep enough for me.”

“This book is good. She’s funny! And relatable.”

“I wish she had…”

“Maybe this book just isn’t for me.”

These were all things I thought, and several I said out loud to my husband (hi, I love you), while reading a book I just finished today. I kind of forced myself to finish it because there was truly nothing outrightly wrong with the book. The author accomplished what she set out to do, and she did it pretty well.

It’s a book about creativity and motherhood. From that alone, you would think I’d be all in, all for it, that’d it be right in my wheelhouse. That’s what I thought, anyways. My motherhood and my creativity go hand in hand. I talk about the crossing of the two things in my life all the time, with friends and family, and on this blog. I thought this book would be an instant win for me.

But it wasn’t.

I am not going to name drop the book or author, but you may be able to figure it out from my descriptions. As a fellow creative, and mother, I applaud her hard work, her excellent writing, her creativity, her diligence (she wrote this during lots of difficulties, which she describes in the book). This is a reality for all creatives: not everyone will love what you make. And that’s ok. God still sees it. God still delights in what honors and glorifies him. I truly see that this author was seeking this from her work. I do not fault her for her content not appealing to me. I am one person, I am just a woman. I am not God.

Two thirds into the book, a chapter title revealed the reason for me. The chapter was titled: “Remember to play”. The chapter encouraged moms to play, relax, let go. That’s when I realized, this book is written to a mother with different struggles than me, and that’s ok. The phrase: remember to play, is not helpful to me. I am not a type A person. I am a laid back, relaxed, type of person. I am creative in all that I do. I cannot help it. I have never had to remember to do it, or felt like my creative endeavors were impossible now that I’m a mom. If I do not do creative things, regularly, daily, I go crazy. Literally. My husband, and children, can attest to this. I love spontaneous trips. I love treats. I love laughing and singing, and – dare I say it – mess. I love a good mess. It means things happened! People lived! Kids created! I love it.

This book was written to moms to remind them to do these things, to give them “permission”, to “stir them up” in this way. The way that I already function. And that’s ok.

That is needed for a lot of moms.

Reading this book was good for me, because a lot of it didn’t apply to me. But it reminded me that there are people who need this. That there are moms who aren’t like me. And that is good.

It can be frustrating and disappointing when a book you were excited about, a book you thought would appeal to you really well, really deeply, just doesn’t hit you in that way.

But this book was recommended by someone who said “this book really helped me”. They encouraged (on their podcast, so they are recommending it to hundreds of moms all across the internet) others to read it. It clearly affects people!

For me, it didn’t. But it is so needed to remember that I’m not the gold standard. I am not the perfect audience. I am not God, which is a VERY good reminder.

Soli Deo Gloria