Carmen Taylor's Personal Blog

I started my writing journey when the noise became violently loud. When the voices in my head were all talking at once, competing for space, and I couldn’t hear myself think. So I wrote. Not for an audience, not for applause—just to focus. Just to breathe. I used to share my thoughts on Facebook, but that space started to feel like walking through glass—my honesty triggered people I love, especially my sister, because it reminded them of a version of me I was trying to survive. So I came here instead, to the Carmen Taylor blog. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere without comments or algorithms or the need to make it look pretty. I doubt many will find their way to this little corner of motherhood reflections—but maybe that’s the point. This is me, screaming out into the void. Not to be seen, but to be heard.

Three Things You Should Probably Know

I don’t function before coffee

Like, genuinely. Don’t call, text, or breathe near me before 07h00. My first cup is sacred, especially as I reflect on my motherhood journey and share my thoughts on the Carmen Taylor blog.

I used to run marathons—for fun

2018 was my peak. I was running half marathons before work, a testament to my dedication that I often reflect on in my Carmen Taylor blog. Now, I'm slowly making my way back, as the road and I have unfinished business. These experiences are part of my writing journey and motherhood reflections, reminding me of the strength I can reclaim.

I talk to myself (and sometimes answer).

It’s called processing or solo parenting, and as I reflect on my motherhood journey, I find that the conversations are excellent. This is a theme I often explore on the Carmen Taylor blog, where I share my motherhood reflections and insights from my writing journey.

I’m not quite sure how you ended up here, but welcome to my little corner of the internet, the Carmen Taylor blog.

I’m Carmen, a single solo mama of four (yes, there is such a thing... lol) — with a soft spot for coffee, old running shoes, and honest conversations. My youngest, Greyson, was born in 2020. His siblings are grown now—the “lastborn” before him is already in their third year of varsity. Life came at me in chapters I never planned for, but here I am—still turning the pages.

This space serves as my personal diary and a platform for my motherhood reflections. It’s a place where I show up barefoot, bra-less, coffee in hand. Somewhere between the chaos of raising a little one and my 06h30 caffeine ritual, I needed somewhere to land. To vent. To remember. To reflect. And to breathe.

I write because I need to. Not because I have answers—but because I’m still making peace with the questions. It’s not polished. It’s not filtered. It’s just mine. And maybe, if you’ve found your way here, it’s a little bit yours too.

In 2018, I was running marathons like it was my love language. Three that year. PBs left and right. Half marathons before work—madness. But I loved it. Then came 2020. Covid. Greyson. And the kind of life shift that makes everything else blur out of focus.

Running stopped—not because I didn’t want to, but because I genuinely couldn’t. With a baby at home and working remotely, the windows of time I used to rely on just vanished. No early morning runs—because I had no one to watch the baby. No evening runs—same reason. And during the day, it was work calls, emails, nappies, feeds, mess. Rinse. Repeat.

I’ve tried getting back. More than once. Started over so many times I’ve lost count. Couch to 5K? I’ve met that program like an old frenemy—always with hope, never quite making it past week three. Not for lack of desire. Just… no rhythm. No time. And let’s be honest—no childcare. And even when I do manage a few runs, my body reminds me I’m starting from scratch. Cue the shin splints. The exhaustion. And of course—The Betrayal—that lingering calf injury (yes, I’ve named it), the one that ruined my Cango dreams and shattered my shot at my first ultra.

I still haven’t quite made it back. Time and injury haven’t always been kind. But I will. One day. There’s a half marathon and a Vlakte Marathon still waiting for me to come home.

So what will you find here?

A bit of everything. My thoughts. My flaws. My fears. A few bits of Greyson. Notes on motherhood, identity, grief, rebuilding, and the weird beauty in the messy middle. This is part of my writing journey. No perfect filters. Just truth—served hot, like my coffee.

Every mug has a story

Some people collect stamps. I collect mugs.

Not fancy ones. Just the kind that speak. Some shout sarcasm. Others whisper comfort. A few carry the weight of seasons I thought I wouldn’t survive.

There’s a black one that says “Coffee is my love language.” It’s not just a mug—it’s a full personality type. There’s the tall green one that reads “Great ideas start with great coffee.” And honestly, it’s never lied. And then there’s my absolute favourite—me in a cup—a pink one with colourful letters that spell out one of my favourite words: AbsoFuckinglutely.

Each mug is a chapter in my writing journey. A moment. A mood. And I choose them the way you’d pick a playlist—whatever matches the day.

Because you can’t pour out your truth without a good vessel. And mine just happens to have bold fonts, sass, and character. These little reflections are part of my motherhood journey, shared on the Carmen Taylor blog, where I explore the blend of daily life and the stories we tell.

Hands in cozy pink knit sleeves holding a white mug with a heart cutout.