Stopping to start…
On March 5th, I became the mother to an adult. We celebrated our eldest turning 18.
On that very same day, the anniversary of the day I gave birth to a new person and a new me, I decided to invest in myself. 2025 became the year I stood up and said out loud, My name is Anna, and I am an artist.
Since that day, I’ve foolishly felt like I’ve done very little. But on Summer Solstice, I made myself stop, just like the day itself, An Grianstad, the sun stop, and reflect on the past four months (ish). In that time, I’ve firmly embraced who I am. But my 18-year-old has embraced it too, maybe even more than I have, egging me on every day. Every notion I muse out loud, every decision I make, they cheer me on and remind me that if I don’t do it, it won’t happen.
My firstborn has taught me that to be whole, I must believe in myself and take that step into the unknown. They’ve reflected back to me everything I hoped to teach them as they grew. To have my adult child as my biggest cheerleader is one of the most valuable things I’ll carry with me into this new future.
Every time I second guess myself or feel doubt about what I’m chasing, I wobble. Unlike before, when those inner critiques would stop me, now I let them speak, and then I either ignore them completely or meet them with logic and thought-out arguments. Every single time, I feel an inch taller. Another anchor loosens. Another weight lifts. It’s been an amazing journey in four months, and I know this is how it will continue, with bumps and swerves along the way.
I have so many ideas and plans. Now isn’t the time to share them, but for the first time in my life, I can answer the question of where I see myself in five years. In my 25 years as a legal adult, I’ve never been able to say that. Now, just a few months after my first baby became an adult, I can.
That’s the real milestone. Not the big announcements or visible wins, but the calm clarity. The steady sense of belief replacing the constant second-guessing. The realisation that being this person, the artist, isn’t about waiting for permission. It’s about choosing myself, over and over.
I’ve mothered others for 18 years. Now I’m learning to mother myself. This feels different. More rooted. More real.
The ideas will come. The work will grow. The future no longer feels like a question I have to avoid. It feels like something I get to shape.
It all began on the day the sun stopped, and I did too, just long enough to see how far I’ve already come.
Ax
