I Miss My Kids—And I’m Glad About It

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I woke up way too early this morning, feeling that familiar tug in my chest. Even with the peacefulness of the new day, something felt off. There was a slight buzz in my mind that kept me from drifting back to sleep, even though I could have. Theoretically, I could have snuggled back into my pillows since my 8-year-old wouldn’t be sneaking into my room to steal my covers, and his older sister wouldn’t be trying to negotiate her way into my morning routine of no electronics. Although I usually find these little habits a bit annoying—especially before my first cup of coffee—I was acutely aware of the absence of my kids, who had been staying at their dad’s place.

I miss my kids. And, oddly enough, I actually feel a bit happy about that.

When my ex and I decided to part ways, we didn’t need to hash out custody arrangements. We had long agreed that, if we ever divorced, we’d share parenting duties equally. In happier times—like those chaotic days with a baby and a toddler—we joked about an escape clause: “If one of us leaves, that person takes the kids.”

Even after our split, we maintained that commitment. We both wanted our fair share of time with the kids, but honestly, we also craved breaks from parenting. We wanted those cozy mornings in bed and family dinners, but we also wanted some time to ourselves to recharge, catch up on work, or maybe even go on a date. Splitting time with the kids felt like the fairest solution.

Yet, deep down, I worried. I didn’t fear missing my children; I was concerned I might resent their return. I feared I would enjoy my solitude too much, grow accustomed to the quiet, and find parenting overwhelming. I thought, maybe I was a selfish mom for not wanting my kids around all the time. I really worried that I wouldn’t miss them when they were away.

Looking back, I realize I shouldn’t have judged myself so harshly. Going through a separation—even a relatively smooth one—isn’t the best time to evaluate your feelings. The months leading up to our split were some of the most stressful times of my life. My ex and I were navigating a co-parenting situation that was awkward, to say the least. As we transitioned, I moved in and out of our home, often crashing at friends’ places, which felt like a relief from the stress, though it had its own challenges. As one friend mentioned, “You may have plenty of safe places to stay, but right now you don’t have a safe place to live.”

The kids were as demanding as ever, and with my emotional resources stretched thin, it made sense that parenting felt like a lot to handle. My time alone felt precious, even while I felt distant from my family. The chaos of packing and unpacking left me with little time for myself, and my doctor had prescribed some anti-anxiety medication that I used sparingly, often on days when I moved back to our home.

Thankfully, that transitional phase is behind us. My ex found a new place, and we divided our belongings. The day his moving truck left with half of our stuff was liberating—I felt like I could finally breathe. The kids started alternating between the “new” house and the “old” one. When they were with me, I found myself calmer and more present than I’d been in ages. And when they left, I missed them—not in an overwhelming way, but enough to feel a little twinge at drop-off or when putting away toys I knew wouldn’t be used for a few days. There’s still an Archie comic in the bathroom, and every time I see it, I think, “They’ll be back to read that soon,” and it makes me smile.

By the fourth or fifth day without them, I start to feel a bit restless. So, when I first noticed those little pangs of longing, I felt strangely relieved. I wasn’t a terrible mother; I was simply a woman navigating a tough year, someone who loves her kids deeply and is committed to providing them with a warm, loving half-time home. I miss them when they aren’t around, but at least I know they’ll return.

When the kids are away, I keep busy. Sometimes my solo dinners are just cheese and crackers paired with a glass of wine while I unwind in front of the TV. I work, catch up with friends, exercise, and even meditate. I’m thinking about dating again. I enjoy my life, and while I do, I still miss my children. And you know what? I’m genuinely happy about that.

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In summary, missing my kids when they’re away reminds me of the love I have for them, even as I find joy in my own space.