What Motherhood Taught Me About Productivity, Language Learning, and Life

This piece is more reflective than my usual, science-oriented writing.

Today, I want to share the deeper truths that motherhood has taught me about productivity, language learning, and what truly matters in life.

Before I became a mother, I lived for movement, momentum, and milestones.

I was an ambitious PhD student who presented at conferences, chaired the PhD council, published academic articles, and gave talks at science festivals. I taught, researched, and mentored. I traveled around the world, ran marathons, went to parties, learned languages, and prepared for exams long into the night.

Back then, productivity meant output and excellence. It gave me meaning and structure. I thrived on intensity, goals, deadlines. On becoming. And I loved it. I felt alive.

Fast forward to now.

At the moment of writing this article, my son is 5 months old. My daughter is 4 years old. I am on parental leave.

I haven’t been to a conference in years. There are no public speeches, no marathon bibs, no wild travel plans. My planner stays mostly empty (aside from regular doctor appointments).

But there are little hands tugging at my sleeve, wide eyes watching me speak and sing, big smiles, and infinite hugs from my babies.

Life is hectic now. But in a different way. Most days, I don’t finish my coffee before it goes cold. I have food stains on my clothes.

I write and continue learning languages in bursts, usually during nap time. I fold laundry and do the dishes while listening to Spanish podcasts or watching YouTube, read children’s books aloud in Swedish, and watch films with the baby curled against my chest.

My victories look different now:

A clean kitchen. A baby who naps for more than 20 minutes. A curious daughter who tries to speak in Spanish and Russian (my husband’s and my mother tongues) and becomes better and better at reading and writing in Swedish and English. At the moment, she speaks fluent English and Swedish (we live in Stockholm and speak mostly English in the family). Because of the limited contact, her Spanish and Russian are still at the receptive stage.

Yesterday, her cute message on my Kindle melted my heart: ajluvmamm — “I love mom.”

This version of my life — adorable, but less eventful and infinitely more demanding — has given me a new definition of productivity and made me realize certain things that I’d like to share with you.

1. Presence is the new productivity.

Some days, I miss the focused woman I used to be. The one who could spend hours perfecting a paper or building a course syllabus. Now, my mind is constantly split between baby requests and household chores. I have no time for myself.

But when I’m fully with my children, when I sit on the floor and build a tower or repeat the same song for the sixth time, I feel it: this is productive. This is presence.

My baby doesn’t care about my achievements. My husband doesn’t need a perfectly optimized calendar or a sparkling clean home (although I love it). They need me — fully present, not half-distracted by my phone or thinking of new ideas for blog articles.

And ironically, this kind of presence is what makes language learning work, too. Think about how children learn their first language. Children don’t acquire language through perfect schedules or pressure. They learn by being immersed in connection, by hearing the same words again and again in moments of play and daily life.

And yes, I know, children and adults learn differently, and I will explain how in great detail in another article. But for now my point is that we need to stop multitasking and truly be present to absorb more, to remember more, to play, and be joyous about the whole process of learning a new language.

2. Done is better than perfect.

Motherhood taught me to let go of my perfectionism. And I am so happy about it.

Perfectionism used to be my enemy. It delayed so many things in my life, including my PhD thesis, which I stretched out for years because I couldn’t bear to submit a paragraph that didn’t feel “just right.” I was afraid that my supervisor would tear me into pieces if I wrote something stupid or without thinking deeply enough.

In terms of language learning, I used to spend hours researching the best textbooks or perfecting my pronunciation before daring to speak. Now, I grab five minutes here and there to listen to a podcast or mentally rehearse new words.

There’s no time for being perfect.

Progress matters more than perfection.

And showing up, even imperfectly, creates momentum. From this perspective, imperfection is powerful. It gives us permission to keep going.

Our kids don’t need perfect parents. They need present ones. And our work doesn’t need perfection, it needs to be done.

3. Micro-learning is a superpower.

I no longer have the luxury of long study sessions, although I miss them dearly. But I do have little pockets of time: five minutes in the bathroom, ten minutes while pushing the stroller, or fifteen minutes between chores. Motherhood taught me to turn those moments into gold. These short, focused bursts of intellectual work are my best friends now. I manage to accomplish something, and something is better than nothing.

I always remember the compound effect, that these tiny moments add up. After all, language is learned not through marathons of effort, but through daily exposure, repetition, and meaningful engagement, even when it’s imperfect and squeezed between tasks.

In this season of my life, micro-learning is my only way forward.

And that’s okay.

Because momentum, no matter how small, is still momentum.

4. Your ‘why’ becomes stronger.

Having children didn’t make me less ambitious. It made my “why” bigger.

I want my kids to grow up hearing multiple languages. I want them to see their mom learning, growing, failing, and trying again. I want them to know that dreams don’t pause. They adapt. And life is about progress and adaptation.

My children are not a distraction from my goals. They are the reason those goals matter more deeply now. And on the days when I’m tired, overwhelmed, or questioning my pace, I return to that deeper purpose.

Language learning, like life, is never linear, but it’s always worth it. Whether you’re learning your first language or your fifth, the reason behind your learning matters. When your why is strong — whether it’s to connect with loved ones, raise multilingual kids, travel, teach, or rediscover yourself — it carries you through fatigue, setbacks, and slow days.

5. Rest is part of the process.

There were years when I worked late, traveled constantly, lived on adrenaline. Now, some days I get nothing done. Some weeks, I forget the language app, the planner, the goals.

Motherhood has taught me to be kind to myself in those moments. I feel no guilt taking a break or a nap whenever my body so desperately craves it. Rest is part of productivity. Pauses are part of learning.

I’ve learned that rest isn’t laziness. It is no longer optional. It’s survival. It’s what allows me to be a better mother, partner, and creator.

Rest is not a reward for productivity. It is part of productivity.

Pauses are not failures. They are part of how we process, reflect, and grow.

When learning a language, skipping a day or even a week doesn’t erase your progress. No need to feel guilty. Sometimes your brain needs space to absorb, to connect, and to breathe.

Your efforts are still there, quietly working in the background.

6. Language learning has never felt more alive.

I used to teach languages to adults. Now I guide my daughter as she speaks these four languages.

I closely observe her learning trajectory, watch her code-switch, and see the sparks of comprehension in real time.

In the meantime, I listen to my baby’s babbles and hear the first traces of language taking shape. It is fascinating how sound is becoming meaningful communication.

The theories of language acquisition that I once read in textbooks now unfold in my family life. And here’s what I’ve realized by observing my children:

Language learning isn’t just about drills, flashcards, or exams.

It’s about connection, curiosity, play, and joy.

Watching my children learn has reminded me that the most powerful language acquisition happens in context, through repetition, emotion, and meaningful interaction.

If you’re learning a language, don’t be afraid to return to those roots.

Sing. Play. Speak aloud. Make language alive.

7. The invisible work is the most important.

No one applauds me for rocking a baby at 3 a.m., for calming a tantrum with patience, or for keeping two tiny humans alive and loved. But those invisible acts are where real strength lives.

Motherhood taught me that the most valuable work doesn’t get tracked. It doesn’t always look like progress. But it is progress. It gets felt in trust, in connection, in tiny daily wins that no one sees but matter deeply.

And language learning is the same.

The silent repetition of a word in your head. The awkward first sentences you build in private. The podcasts you half-understand but keep listening to anyway. No one sees that part, but it’s in this invisible work that fluency slowly takes root.

8. Ambition doesn’t die — it transforms.

There are still sparks of the old me. That woman who loved research and ideas, she’s still here.

This month, I started writing on Medium. Not to chase numbers, claps, or followers, but to reflect and connect with you. To reclaim the part of me that once thrived in academic spaces. To write about language, not for scholars, but for real people, in real life. I want to make it human, warm, and useful.

This writing is slower. It happens in fragments. More often than not, it takes a full week to create an article. But somehow, this project feels more meaningful than ever. I am learning to shift from an academic writing style to conversational. And I am struggling and doubting myself: Am I clear enough? Is it engaging? Am I putting my dear reader to sleep? Yet, I go on, fight my impostor syndrome, fear, and perfectionism, and press the publish button.

I consider it a success if my experience and knowledge transmitted through writing can help at least one person feel a little more capable, a little more connected, and a little less alone in their own language learning journey.

9. Every version of me has value.

The woman who could speak on stage, who could run 5-10K and meditate before breakfast — she was worthy.

And so is the current woman who breastfeeds five times a night while half-asleep. The one whose hair is falling out after pregnancy, whose eyes are puffy, whose skin is wrinkled from exhaustion , but who gives her everything to love and protect her babies.

There is no hierarchy between those versions. They are just different chapters of the same life.

And the same goes for you when you’re learning a language.

You might be in a season where you study every day, or one where you barely remember a single word from last week.

You might have once felt fluent and confident, and now feel lost or rusty.

But every version of you has value.

The focused learner. The tired learner. The one who keeps showing up, even if it’s just for a moment.

There is space for all of it. And all of you.

10. Relationships are the real return on investment.

Some tend to measure success in followers, income, projects finished.

But at the end of our days — will any of that truly matter?

My daughter doesn’t care how many degrees I have.

My son doesn’t know what a dissertation is.

But they know how my voice sounds when I sing.

They know the comfort of my arms.

They know I’m theirs.

And at the end of my life, I won’t be proudest of my accomplishments. I won’t remember my to-do lists. I will remember who I loved, how deeply I loved them, and how deeply they loved me.

Even in language learning, this is what lasts. It’s not the perfect grammar or the biggest vocabulary that makes the journey meaningful. It’s the ability to say I love you in someone else’s language. It’s the friendships, conversations, and small shared moments across cultures and generations.

Connection is the true return on investment.

Always.

11. I’ve never felt so deeply needed.

There were days when I sat at my desk, finishing my PhD dissertation, overwhelmed by deadlines, while my daughter played nearby. She had drawn a little picture of us holding hands.

She said, “Mama, I made this while you were working. Do you like it?”

I cried.

That picture reminded me that my most important job wasn’t the dissertation I was writing. It was being there for her, being her safe place, her anchor, her world.

There is something sacred about being someone’s whole world. To be wanted, held, and loved so completely, without conditions or expectations.

And perhaps that’s the most powerful lesson I’ve learned not just in parenting, but in language learning too.

Language isn’t ultimately about getting things right, but reaching someone, holding space for them, being understood, feeling close, and being able to say you matter to me in someone else’s words.

Love and meaningful relationships are the deepest and most lasting kinds of learning.

12. Every mess is a memory.

There are stains on my clothes, toys in every corner, and dishes in the sink. I used to see this as chaos. It was driving me crazy. Now, I accept it and see it as life being lived.

Each mess is a reminder that my home is full of love, laughter, and growing souls. That is the kind of beautiful disorder I choose to welcome.

And language learning is often messy, too. It’s not always neat notebooks and perfectly structured sentences. It’s forgetting words mid-conversation, mixing languages, starting and stopping, and picking things up again when you can.

It means you’re living the language.

It means you’re in it, not from the sidelines, but right in the middle of the beautiful, imperfect process.

So let the mess be part of the memory.

In parenting, in learning, and in life.

13. The strongest version of me was born through pain, not planning.

Growing, birthing, and feeding my babies showed me a strength I never knew I had.

I’ve done things I never imagined I could.

I’ve endured sleepless nights, postpartum storms, and waves of self-doubt, and I’m still here, softer and stronger.

Productivity isn’t always visible.

Sometimes, surviving is the work.

Sometimes, just being is enough.

And the same is true for learning.

There will be seasons where nothing seems to stick, where exhaustion clouds your mind, where you question whether you’re even making progress.

But you are.

Growth often hides in the struggle.

And the strongest learners, like the strongest parents, are forged not by perfect plans, but by showing up with courage even when it hurts.

Even when it’s slow. Even when no one sees it but you.

14. Gratitude makes every step lighter.

When I was nine months pregnant, I could barely walk. I couldn’t focus. And I felt like a failure for not finishing a project I had poured myself into.

But every kick reminded me: life is growing inside me.

And I am so deeply grateful for the double privilege of being a mother.

Now, even on the hardest days, I say thank you.

For the chaos. For the crumbs. For the spilled milk on the floor. For the cuddles and the stories and the soft little voices.

Sometimes I miss parts of the old me — the carefree version, the accomplished one, the one who had time to think, plan, and finish things. But I’m also deeply grateful for what I have now.

When you learn, you can miss the focus you once had. The pace you kept. The goals you met. And still be grateful for the tiny moments you do get now and for the chance to learn at all, however slowly

Thanks for reading!