The Quiet Voice I Couldn’t Ignore Anymore

From Developer to Dreamer

For almost a decade, I worked as a software developer. I enjoyed the structure, the logic, and the satisfaction of solving problems. I was good at it. But over time, a quiet voice inside me began to whisper louder — a desire to create, not just code.

Drawing had always been something I loved as a child. But like many of us, I had set it aside — for studies, degrees, deadlines, and adult responsibilities. Years later, after long days at work, I found myself sketching again — not for anyone else, but just for me. Art slowly became my refuge. A place to reconnect with myself, with joy, with something deeper. But I still didn’t think of it as a career. Not yet.

Then came an unexpected pause: two years of being jobless in the U.S. due to visa restrictions. With time on my hands and nowhere to rush, I began exploring different mediums — watercolor, ink, digital illustration. And I was surprised by how alive I felt. I had a reason to wake up excited — ready to learn, to make, to express. During this time, I threw myself into learning. I attended free workshops, watched countless YouTube tutorials, and borrowed stacks of art books from the library. I experimented with styles and techniques, often staying up late just to finish a sketch. I bought supplies with guilt — unsure if I was being irresponsible — and sometimes deeply missed the financial security of a stable job.

Eventually, I got my work visa and returned to tech. I found myself enjoying the rhythm again — the problem-solving, the collaboration, the steady income. The financial stability brought a sense of ease I had missed. But even as I settled back into my career, that quiet desire to create never left. I began carving out time in the margins of my day — sketching in the early mornings, unwinding at night with a pencil in hand. During this period, I slowly started investing in better supplies, enrolling in paid courses, and upgrading my tools — this time, without the guilt.

I was building an art practice alongside my tech career — sketching during lunch breaks, designing my own website on weekends, and eventually launching a small shop where I sold a few prints. But the more I nurtured my creativity, the more I felt the toll of balancing both worlds. I was stretched thin, creatively drained, and slowly burning out.

It became clear that to truly honor that quiet voice inside me, I needed to make a choice. 

A New Beginning in Motherhood

Around this time, I got pregnant — and soon after, stepped into maternity break. That season of life — postpartum, away from work, caring for my newborn — was intense but deeply clarifying.

That’s when the idea struck:
If not now, then when? That question echoed louder than ever.

It wasn’t glamorous. It was vulnerable and scary. I had no formal art degree and was starting from scratch again. I questioned myself constantly:
Is my art good enough? Will I make money? Why leave a career I invested years in?

But I couldn’t ignore the pull. I didn’t want to wonder years later what might have been if I had tried. And I knew I could always return to tech if needed — but I owed it to myself to give art a real chance.

And so, in the middle of feeding schedules, diaper changes, and uncertain nights, I began again — not with a perfect plan, but with a quiet, determined hope that this path might lead to something meaningful.

That’s how my second beginning took root — in the margins of motherhood.

Real Life as an Artist-Mom

My days are far from picture-perfect. I no longer work a neat 9-to-5 schedule. Instead, I work around the clock—in pockets of time whenever they appear—during my daughter’s naps, daycare hours, or quiet moments when she’s playing nearby. Sometimes she sits beside me while I draw, grabbing my pens or pointing at my sketches, reminding me to slow down and savor these little moments.

Art offers the kind of time freedom and flexibility that fits well with this phase of my life. It creates a balance that feels both sustainable and fulfilling.

It’s a different kind of busy—less structured, but deeply rewarding.

A Quiet Superpower

I haven’t completely left tech. It gave me structure, stability, and confidence — and the skills I gained still serve me every day. I built my own website, set up systems, and manage the tech side of my creative business with ease. In many ways, tech is my quiet superpower.

Do I miss it sometimes? Yes. I genuinely enjoyed the work and may return to it someday in a new way. But I love the creative life more. I had to give it a real shot — not as a hobby or a side hustle, but as a serious pursuit. If art doesn’t unfold the way I hope, I know I can return to tech for stability and with no regrets. But I also know this: I’m not leaving art behind again.

Preparing for the Leap: Financial Stability Matters

Taking a leap into a creative career isn’t easy, especially without some financial cushion. I was lucky to have saved enough to support myself for about a year while I explored art more seriously. Having that runway gave me the breathing room to focus on growth without constant stress about immediate income. If you’re thinking about making a similar change, I’d encourage you to build at least one year of savings first — it can make all the difference in giving you the confidence and freedom to pursue your passion with less fear. 

If You're Standing at a Crossroads…

…wondering if it’s too late, if you’re too old to begin, or if switching paths makes you ungrateful or irresponsible — I see you. I was there too. And here’s what I’ve learned:

The thing that pulls at your heart doesn’t go away. And sometimes, all it needs is a little space to grow.

So,

This is me giving it space.

This is me saying yes to something new.

This is me choosing art.

If you’re on a similar path or thinking of taking a leap, I’d love to hear your story!