Messy Minded Momma

Daily Writing Prompt

Q: What is one question you hate to be asked? Explain.

A: “So tell me a little about yourself. What do you like to do for fun?”



I have been asked this question more times than I can count. In interviews. On dates. During awkward playdates with other moms while our kids size each other up over Goldfish crackers.

You would think by now I would have a polished elevator pitch ready to go. Instead, I freeze. My brain goes completely blank. Palms sweaty. Heart pounding. The spinning wheel of death appears in my mind while I scramble for literally anything.

Why do I hate this question so much?

Because for a long time, I did not have an answer.

I always knew I did not really have hobbies, but I assumed that was normal. Does everyone need to be passionate about something? When I met my husband and he asked what I like to do for fun, it hit differently. He was the first person who genuinely did not understand how someone could not have a hobby. So he pushed. Helped me think it through. We both came up empty.

Then March 2020 arrived. The world shut down due to the pandemic. My company sent us home and suddenly I had time. So much time. Yes, I was “working,” but like most businesses, we were in survival mode. There were fewer tasks, fewer emails, fewer fires to put out. And there I was. Alone with my thoughts and a whole lot of open hours.

So I learned to sew.

I taught myself how to make face coverings for family and friends. I wandered Fabricland and Len’s Mill like they were therapy sessions. If we had to wear masks, we were at least going to coordinate. I spent months sewing. It felt calming. Purposeful. Creative.

Then the hyperfocus kicked in.

Patterns. Fabric. Thread. Scissors. Measuring tapes. Pins. Cutting mats. Trim and ribbon in quantities that suggested I was opening a small boutique. I had projects lined up for days. I was fully prepared to rebrand as Suzy Homemaker.

And then… nothing.

Work picked up. The novelty faded. The dopamine hit wore off. The tote bin in my closet now holds half-finished stuffies, quilts, blankets, and scrunchies. A half-sewn superhero head sits with a needle and thread still poking through his eye, staring at me like a judgmental metaphor.

I only recently realized this is ADHD. My brain craves novelty. It chases the dopamine rush of something new and shiny. I dive in intensely. I become obsessed. And when the stimulation drops, so does my interest. It is not laziness. It is not lack of follow through. It is wiring.

When people ask me now what I like to do for fun, I sometimes joke that my hobbies revolve around my son. And honestly? It is true. When he was into Spider Man, I was all in. Figures, clothes, bedding, and books. The full immersion experience. Now he is into Monster Trucks and I know more about oversized tires than I ever thought possible. My brain thrives on the constant change. Just when something starts to feel repetitive, he pivots and it works for me.

But I do think about the future. About the day he moves out and takes his rotating interests with him. About the quiet house and the tote bin of unfinished projects.

Maybe the point is not to force myself to have one lifelong, perfectly curated hobby. Maybe the point is to understand how my brain works and stop shaming it for doing exactly that. Maybe I am not hobby-less. Maybe I am interest-based. Season-based. Momentum-driven. Maybe my “fun” is diving deeply into whatever phase I am in without needing it to last forever.

And if someone asks me what I like to do for fun now? I might just say: I like to follow curiosity wherever it takes me. Sometimes that lasts years. Sometimes it lasts three weeks and a pile of fabric.