“Mom? Can I come in?”
The sweet face of one of my littles peered around the corner of our bedroom doorway, sleepy-eyed and hopeful. It was unusually early, but not surprising since I had managed to arise early, planning to take advantage of some uninterrupted solitude. It felt like every time I stepped into the pre-dawn blur of the morning, anticipating extended time alone, the kids somehow telepathically received a message to break their predictable sleep schedule and get up earlier than normal.
That moment of interrupted solitude was more than just a typical parenting experience—it was a clue to understanding how my brain fundamentally works. Although I didn't recognize it then, I was experiencing the classic tension between Maker time and Manager time.
Ask anyone and they will confirm that my favorite job I ever had was being a mom to our two children. Working part-time in IT and splitting my time between a career and child-rearing eventually wore me down to the point where I begged my husband to let me stay home.
“I’ll drive a beat-up station wagon.”“I’ll live in a trailer home.”
“Just please let me stay home and be with our kids.”
A plan was forged, months out, to reorganize our finances so I could responsibly, with a clear conscience, turn my back on the tech career I so dearly loved and face a new role as primary caregiver.
I have never regretted that choice.
The transition from programmer to full-time mom wasn't just a change in responsibilities—it was a seismic shift in how time worked. Motherhood operated on an entirely different schedule.
Staying home with children is exponentially harder than the rhythms of office life. Little ones often require constant interaction and presence: stories must be read, food prepared, kisses and cuddles given freely. The deep focus I had loved as a programmer seemed almost impossible to find.
Although I didn’t know it at the time, my move to stay-at-home mom provided abundant clues to my work style. After a full day of feeding and cleaning, and getting the kids to sleep, the last thing I wanted was to interact with another human. No, I didn’t want to talk about my day. No, I didn’t want a hug. I had been touched and spit upon and wiped b*tts and cleaned food off faces all day and I WAS DONE.
My body ached to sit perfectly still or immerse myself in a captivating book. I yearned to take a slow walk alone, inhaling the night air as the last of the bird song quieted for the evening. The desire to start and finish a project, any project, oozed out of me, looking for a place to be useful.
Looking back, I can see that I was exhibiting characteristics of someone who preferred Maker time to Manager time.
What’s the difference? Makers - like programmers, artists, and writers - need long, uninterrupted blocks of time to produce their best work.
Managers, by contrast, thrive in hour-long blocks, moving fluidly between meetings and tasks. Their strength lies in quick decisions and immediate responses.
Neither is better than the other; they are simply different ways of functioning.
I remember the first time I heard about these two contrasting approaches to time. My insides jumped for joy—finally, an explanation for why I'd always felt like a square peg in a round hole! Each interruption while deep in thought or creation felt like a jarring channel change, fragmenting my focus into competing screens screaming for my attention.
This sensitivity to interruption is matched by an equally intense awareness of my surroundings. For instance, I once attended a conference in a big hotel, and I recall walking through the door of a large meeting room. Immediately, my brain picked up all the stimulus. The two chairs out of alignment, the tablecloth hanging crooked, and the clattering of a cart filled with water pitchers rumbling down the hallway all clamored for my attention. I felt the cool breeze of the air conditioning, noticed a small stain on the carpet, and spotted a microphone stand that wasn’t quite centered on the stage.
This all happened within seconds.
Yes, I have a weird brain.
Yes, I could ignore these details - but should I?
Yes, this heightened awareness can be a powerful tool when thoughtfully applied.
My surroundings have always felt like an overstimulated assault. Conversations, repetitive noises, emotions on people’s faces, things out of place - they all pierce my eyes and brain without permission.
That noticing is why I excel at connecting and remembering things.
I have been known to shout out “that’s the place!” after searching for a building while traveling in an unfamiliar place, simply because I once glanced at a photo of the front facade. Or, “Take this exit!” because my brain transferred the correct street from long-term memory to my mouth, just in time.
This ability to rapidly absorb information, combined with my natural inclination toward deep reflection, often pulls me into hours of focused contemplation.
Understanding that I'm a maker has transformed how I view myself.
When a friend once remarked, "You think a lot," I no longer felt defective—my contemplative nature and attention to detail aren't flaws to fix but gifts to channel.
This maker mindset that serves us so well in creative pursuits faces new challenges in our hyper-connected world. As someone once observed:
Carrying around a smartphone is like giving everyone in the world permission to tap you on the shoulder at any time, all at once.
With notifications popping up or buzzing on our wrists constantly, we are tempted to exit conversations abruptly or miss special once-in-a-lifetime moments. Notifications shoot us up with dopamine highs, which can give us the illusion of being super important and needed - NOW!
I think back to the 1980s, when I was a programmer for Target corporate marketing. I had reveled in late-night coding sessions, embracing the silence and lack of interaction. Being single afforded me the luxury of staying late to capitalize on uninterrupted focus. Once I turned off my computer and walked to the bus stop, work was over. I was free.
In our current day with little separation between work and free time, I wonder how the expectation of an instant response has impacted the quality of both work and leisure?
During those years of living on Manager Time, I resorted to what's now called "revenge bedtime procrastination"—sacrificing sleep to reclaim precious hours of uninterrupted focus in the quiet of night. Even now, after a stream of busy days or when hosting houseguests, I sometimes fall into this pattern, seeking quiet space to reset.
As a maker, I can become frustrated when trying to complete deep work, which means I must prioritize practical solutions for protecting time for what’s important to me and necessary for good mental health.
Now, instead of fighting my nature, I protect my Maker Time fiercely. I block out long stretches for creative work, communicate my needs clearly ("I need two hours of uninterrupted time to write"), and find creative ways to carve out solitude. Most importantly, I've stopped feeling guilty about these needs. Creating something of value requires these long stretches of uninterrupted time - there are no shortcuts.
For other makers out there struggling with interrupted time:
Notice when you do your best creative work
Communicate your needs clearly to those around you
Create signals that indicate when you're in maker mode (I once had a glittery headband with the word “introvert” on it)
Become portable so you can change locations easily
Remember that your sensitivity to interruption isn't a flaw—it's part of your creative process
To my fellow Makers: Embrace your need for deep work time. Your sensitivity to interruption isn't a weakness—it's evidence of your creative depth.
To those who thrive in Manager Time: Your maker friends aren't being antisocial when they seek solitude. They're honoring their creative process.
Life's rhythms remain unpredictable, and sometimes the sweetest moments come from unexpected interruptions—like that sleepy-eyed child at my door so long ago, simply wanting to be held and loved. While we can't perfectly control our days, understanding and accepting how we're wired frees us from the pressure to conform to someone else's rhythm.
What kind of time do you need? How might understanding your Maker or Manager tendency change how you structure your days?
For more insights on maker vs. manager schedules, see Paul Graham's article [here]. For a deeper dive into finding your natural rhythm, listen to Emily Freeman's podcast [here].
This was very insightful. Thank you for sharing about the different ways that our brains operate.