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When an artist steps out of the spotlight due to significant life changes not made known to the public, assumptions inevitably fill the void. For ’s absence, chief among the assumptions that followed is that motherhood means leaving music behind. However, her disappearance was, in fact, an intensive period of rediscovery.

Instead of allowing the societal expectations placed upon pregnant artists and new mothers to dictate her pause or her return, she used the time to find a new, more centered voice.

Her latest work, including the , is a refusal to shrink.

This is Temi Oni’s story as told to Marv.

I don’t think there was ever a moment when I sat down and said, “I’m stepping away from music.” People assume that because I wasn’t releasing music, I wasn’t making any. But music has always been the undercurrent of my life: constant and always running in the background even when the world couldn’t see it.

Artists like Adele disappear for five years and nobody says, “She stopped making music.”

So even during COVID, when I got pregnant twice and everything in the world was shut down, I was still writing. I was recording from home. I was thinking, feeling and living. The real question for me wasn’t whether I was still an artist, it was, “What do I have to say now that life has changed so much?” I sat with myself: “Who am I now that I’m a mother?”

After giving birth to my kids, I stepped into a new version of myself. Motherhood changed the story I wanted to tell in my music, reshaping my relationship with both time and myself.

I’ve always believed that music is storytelling. Before becoming a mom, my music was introspective, soulful, inward-focused.

Two things guided me. First, I wanted to be mindful. I didn’t want to make music that younger girls, or even my own kids, couldn’t listen to. There’s so much beautiful R&B out there, but a lot of it is explicit in a way that makes it inaccessible to a certain audience.

With this growth, motherhood has centered me, instead of censoring me.

Second, I was craving a perspective I wasn’t hearing from anyone else. Where were the R&B women talking about motherhood? Where were the women in their thirties sharing the complexities of marriage, responsibility, shifting friendships, changing identities?

There’s a whole generation of women: mothers, wives, caregivers, entering a new stage of life, emotionally, mentally, physically, and our experiences weren’t being reflected in the music. I wanted my new EP, Me Time, to be that reflection.

When I got pregnant with my second daughter, my first daughter was only six months old. At that time, I realised that as a woman, especially a Nigerian one, I’m expected to carry everything with grace. People see me handling a lot, and they assume I’m fine and strong. But I wasn’t always fine and strong. “”, the first song I wrote for the project, came from being in that headspace. I remember thinking at the time that I give so much time, energy and love, but couldn’t remember when I last did something for myself. I knew every woman, mother or not, would understand that feeling. So that’s how “Something For Me” was born.

I began to listen more to women’s voices across the world, trying to understand their experiences and struggles. I began to see more of myself in them.

By listening to others, I’ve become more vocal than ever about my needs, pain, desires, frustrations and dreams. If women everywhere are finding their voices, I want my music to amplify that energy.

Every track I made around that time is rooted in time, wanting more of it, wanting less of it, wanting to freeze it, or wanting to escape it. Motherhood gave me a new relationship with time. It made me realise I don’t have a second to waste.

There’s a lot of invisible labour in motherhood, and even with the amazing village I’ve been blessed with,, there are moments that I’m overwhelmed in ways people don’t see.

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The hardest part for me wasn’t the physical work. It was the expectations people placed on me. When I had my children, it felt like everyone around me silently assumed my life should pause. 

The narrative was always,
“Calm down and take care of your kids first.”
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“Don’t stress yourself.”
“You can do your dreams later.”

Meanwhile, men travel. They create, build and chase dreams, with children at home, and nobody blinks.

I remember when I travelled to China a few months ago for a creative project. My husband had no problem with it. He’s an amazing partner and father. But my extended family? They asked,

“Who will take care of the children?”
“As a mother, how can you leave them?”

No one ever asks men these questions. The cultural double standards are real, and navigating it has been one of my greatest challenges.

Advocating for myself is not new. I’ve always been the unofficial black sheep of my family, always known to speak up. But motherhood made it necessary in a different way. I made sure to ask for support, personally and professionally.

Professional support, to me, looks like people not treating motherhood like a handicap. Ask me what I can or cannot do. Don’t decide for me. Personal support looks like giving me time that’s actually mine and I can choose freely. Not labour disguised as time.

I realised that I don’t have time to waste anymore. Literally. Kids, home, life, career, it all requires structure. My days are carefully planned because they have to be.

I don’t believe in balance. Balance implies equality, everything getting the same amount of attention at the same time. That’s not real life. There’s give and take. There are days I’m more of an artist than a mother. There are days I’m more mother than artist. There are days I’m barely either and just trying to breathe. My life works because I make choices with clarity, not guilt.

If there’s one thing I wish people understood, it’s that the journey is long. There’s so much work, so much effort, so much sacrifice before the world recognises one. And motherhood adds another layer to that journey. For me, it’s not in a limiting way, but a transformative one. I’m still here, still writing, still becoming. And this version of me, the mother, the artist and the woman, is the most centred I have ever been.

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