Calling Back the Muse
A quiet gathering of self in the midst of change
It’s been a year since Miles (my second child) was born, and while life has resumed in many ways—school drop-offs, family dinners, errands and emails—I’m still finding pieces of myself scattered across the floor. I don’t expect to put them back the way they were, but I do feel the pull to gather them. To begin re-styling the version of myself I’ve become.
Lately, my sense of self has felt blurry, and I’ve been craving something grounding. Something quietly mine.
A few weeks ago, in the rare stillness of an afternoon when both kids were somehow napping at the same time (I know—what?!)—I felt a sudden urge for beauty. Not in a polished, Instagram-perfect kind of way, but in the smallest of gestures. I lit a candle a friend had gifted me for Mother’s Day. I put on earrings I hadn’t touched in months. I rolled on my favourite scent—just a touch behind my ears and on the insides of my wrists.
That moment reminded me of a workshop I attended a couple of years ago, long before Miles was born. It was about discovering your Muse—your personal expression of femininity, creativity, and desire. The facilitator and friend of mine, Kristina Adam, guided us through our birth charts, inviting us to explore where Venus showed up for each of us. Mine was in Libra, aligned with the Muse archetype of “The Peacemaker.”
I remember nodding as she described The Peacemaker: drawn to beauty, harmony, and the quiet art of styling—the joy of curating a scene, of adorning a space or a body with intention. Not for performance, but for presence. She’s known for creating calm, making others feel at ease in her company, building soulful connections and safe spaces.
And when I heard those words, something clicked. That’s why I’ve always felt most myself when hosting an intimate gathering, layering jewelry, or placing flowers just so. Not because I want to be seen or noticed—but because I want to see myself again, reflected in these small, intentional gestures.
I’m starting to see that these aren’t just echoes of who I was pre-motherhood—they’re invitations to meet who I still am, just in a new form. Little details that make me feel like me—not the “before” version, but someone familiar I’m learning to recognize again.
Because maybe that’s the real gift of these simple gestures. Not that they return us to who we were, but that they gently reveal who we've always been—beneath the noise, beneath the stretch of new roles and shifting rhythms. They remind us that even in the midst of change, something steady remains.
I’ve been thinking about that workshop a lot lately—not because I’m suddenly deep into astrology, but because it gave language to something I hadn’t known how to name: the part of me that longs for softness, for slowness, for beauty as a way back to myself. Especially now, one year postpartum. It’s not about looking put-together. It’s about feeling at home in my own skin.
And maybe that’s what the Muse really is—not some elusive figure reserved for artists, but the part of us that knows how to delight in colour and texture, in scent and sound. The part that notices. That creates—not to impress or produce—but to feel.
It’s easy to forget that part of ourselves in seasons of transition. Whether you’re postpartum or moving through something else entirely—grief, burnout, identity shift—it’s natural to go practical. Efficient. Neutral. But eventually, something stirs. A craving for colour, or softness, or the version of yourself who once wore stacks of rings just because.
These days, I’m trying to listen to that longing. And I’m wondering: what if coming back to yourself isn’t a dramatic return, but a quiet gathering? Earrings slipped on. A spritz of perfume. Fresh flowers on the kitchen counter. A moment of beauty made just for you.
If you’ve been feeling far from yourself lately, consider this your permission to follow the threads of your own Muse—however she shows up. Maybe it’s a song you used to love, a pair of shoes that give you a little pep in your step, a ritual that once grounded your day.
She’s still in there, that part of you who delights in the world. The one who builds peace, tends to beauty, and makes others feel welcome just by being herself. You don’t have to go far to find her. Just start where you are. Add beauty, and see what stirs.
I’m right there with you,
STAY AWHILE:
Slow Takes—No. 02
Slow Takes is my way of pressing pause. A gathering of moments, musings, and meaningful finds—things worth returning to. Not the loudest or the latest, just the ones that linger. A little space to savor what’s stayed with me—and maybe what might stay with you, too.
