It’s Friday night, and here I am, cozy by the fire on my deck, surrounded by a landscape of empty chocolate wrappers and graham cracker debris, while my dogs attempt to salvage the last remnants of burnt marshmallows from the chairs. Tonight, I treated my kids to grilled chicken and a s’mores feast before they headed off to spend the weekend with their dad.
As they packed their bags with clothes and beloved toys for their two-night adventure, I glanced at the mess and felt a surprising sense of calm. Instead of anxiety, I shrugged it off. I can clean up later, knowing that there will be no more chaos from the kids for the weekend. These crumbs are just reminders of a joyful time shared. I feel a sense of gratitude and relief that I’ve reached this point—I never thought I would.
The sounds of their laughter and the pitter-patter of little feet are now replaced by silence, with only the occasional echo of “Mom?” and my own musings. This was the very scenario that used to tear me apart when my husband and I first discussed separating months ago. We clung to our marriage a little too tightly, terrified of the upheaval it would cause in our family and the impact on our precious children.
The thought of missing my kids was overwhelming, and I realized I was equally terrified of facing myself in an empty house. I envisioned awkward handoffs at the local McDonald’s, exchanging stiff smiles with my ex, and then crying into the steering wheel as I watched them drive away, unsure of how to fill the next 48 hours.
But when the day came, it was nothing like I had imagined. Instead of an awkward exchange, he came over for dinner and then took the kids to his place. Despite our new living arrangements, we both still strive to maintain a sense of family. I feel fortunate that we navigate our weekends in such a harmonious way, something that isn’t always the case for everyone.
During my first weekend alone, I packed my schedule with activities to soften the blow. I worked, baked, read, and enjoyed meals out with friends. I pampered myself with a facial and binged on “Girlfriends Guide to Divorce” until I couldn’t keep my eyes open. That night, I let my dog snuggle with me, and I spooned him all night long.
I woke up after sleeping in for the first time in over a decade and took the longest shower of my life. No interruptions, and the water stayed hot the entire time! Eventually, I ran out of plans and allowed myself to be still, shedding a few much-needed tears, which felt incredibly liberating.
It was in that moment I realized I was going to be okay—no, we were all going to be okay. Yes, I missed my kids—their morning cuddles, their playful voices filling the house, breakfast chats, and backyard adventures. But there’s a revelation that has emerged during these weekends alone: I’ve rediscovered myself.
After several weekends of solitude, I’m convinced it’s neither selfish nor wrong to have missed my pre-mom self. I feel happy and liberated, fully believing that I am exactly where I need to be right now. My long-term relationship is coming to a close, and learning to enjoy my own company is mending my heart and soul. This time alone is essential.
Of course, the nagging thoughts of whether we made the right decision still creep in, and I feel sadness from time to time. But I refuse to wallow in self-pity while my kids enjoy quality time with their wonderful father. Everyone benefits from this arrangement—especially me—because I need to be okay when they’re away.
And I am okay! Whether it’s slurping noodles straight from takeout containers, finishing an entire novel over a weekend, or enjoying a night out with my best friends, this newfound routine has become my best therapy. I didn’t expect to find myself here, but this is my new reality, and I’m ready to embrace it head-on.
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In summary, navigating life as a newly single mom has unveiled an unexpected healing journey. Embracing alone time has allowed me to reconnect with myself, transforming solitude into a space for growth and self-appreciation.