Last night, while juggling the chaos of dinner prep, I received a text. “Hey girl, want to come over for wine after the kids are in bed?” It was from a close friend who lives nearby, someone I rarely get to see but genuinely enjoy. For a fleeting moment, I considered my typical reply — needing to check with my partner, which really meant, “I’m probably not going tonight.”
But then I paused. Why did I need to ask for permission? The kids were already asleep, dinner was ready, and the television was functioning just fine without me hovering. Feeling a rush of excitement, I typed back, “Sounds great! Count me in!”
To most, this would be a simple decision: a friend invites you out, you want to go, so you go. Easy peasy. That used to be my way of life, too. But after becoming a mom, I’ve found myself shackled to my family, constantly prioritizing their needs and doubting whether I deserve a moment to exist outside of my role as a caregiver. I can’t place the blame solely on my partner; he’s been fantastic at encouraging my need for social time and reminding me to take a breather every now and then. He understands, as I do, that recharging is essential in this endless marathon called parenthood.
Yet, it’s often easier said than done. I’m here day in and day out, tending to my kids. What would they do without me? More importantly, who am I when I’m not “Mom”? My sense of identity and self-worth has become so tightly wound with their well-being that I sometimes forget I existed before them. I was my own person. I wasn’t just a caregiver.
Separating yourself from your children is a mental challenge that takes practice, determination, and intentionality. This is especially true when they’re young and utterly reliant on you for everything, prone to little accidents, and often turning ordinary objects (like the couch) into their next potential hazard. The first year of my kids’ lives felt suffocating. I felt isolated, bound to their needs, and confined to our home, dictated by their schedules. Every outing seemed to collide with nap times, slowly draining away my youthful zest for life.
The silver lining? Kids grow. Day by day, almost imperceptibly, they gain independence and learn to exist without me. Last night, for the first time in three years, I realized my kids were doing just fine without me. As I stepped out the door with nothing but my purse — no diaper bag, sippy cups, or snacks — I felt a wave of anxiety wash over me. The familiar guilt crept in, and every fiber of my being wanted to turn around and return to the safety of my home, where I felt needed, and where my beloved sweatpants were waiting.
But this time, I felt something new—something I hadn’t realized I missed for so long: freedom. It was a taste of my life before kids, when nothing stopped me from visiting friends or having fun. Others had told me this moment would come, but as I struggled to keep my head above water in the turbulent sea of parenting, I couldn’t envision reclaiming my independence or liberating myself from the demands of my children.
Now, I can confidently say that it does happen. There is a radiant light at the end of the tunnel. A bold new beginning is waiting for you. Just be patient and wait for it…
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Summary
This piece reflects on the journey of motherhood and the struggle to reclaim one’s independence. It highlights the internal battle many mothers face when trying to balance their identity with their roles as caregivers. The author shares a personal experience of stepping out for a night, realizing that their children can manage without them, and ultimately embracing the freedom that comes with it.