When my first marriage came to an end, my children were still quite young—my eldest was around two, and my youngest had just celebrated her first birthday. The separation was swift; I was the one at fault, and fearing a long battle, I opted for an agreement that granted my ex-husband residential custody. As a result, my daughters would attend school where he lived, and I ended up with them one day less each week. My time with them was confined to Sunday nights, Wednesday evenings, and every other weekend, with holidays strictly scheduled according to local rule 21.
Transitioning to a new life as a single mom took an emotional toll on me. I was coping with the aftermath of my mother’s death, raising two girls, working full-time, and teaching part-time. My marriage had ended, and my familiar world crumbled around me. Whether it was a manic episode, post-partum depression, or PTSD, I couldn’t say for sure—medical bills piled up without clear answers. What I did know was that I was in a chaotic state.
Friends often said to me, “I can’t imagine how you manage. I wouldn’t know what to do without my kids. You must be so unhappy.” And while I was indeed struggling, it wasn’t because of the time I spent away from my children. I craved those hours to rebuild my life. Yet, I was bombarded by the same refrain: “I would be lost without my babies.”
It felt like every mother I encountered needed to remind me of my supposed misery. But that wasn’t my reality. I adore my children with all my heart, but I’m not the type to weep at the thought of returning to work after maternity leave. Instead, I was the mom who relished the prospect of enjoying a quiet breakfast alone on my first day back at the office. It wasn’t about missing my child; it was about reconnecting with myself after 90 days of nonstop caregiving.
Regrettably, the women in my life didn’t comfort me; they instilled guilt. For years, I wrestled with the feeling that I was a bad mom because I appreciated my solo time. No one ever commented, “Wow, it must be nice to have a moment to yourself.” Instead, I felt like an outsider, allowing the stigma to cloud my self-worth.
Reflecting back on my maternity leave, I can honestly say those 90 days were the hardest I had ever experienced. I was home alone, with little support, managing the relentless needs of a fussy newborn. I discovered tricks to soothe her—like running the vacuum in her room, which oddly calmed her down. I felt guilty employing that method, saving it for when her cries reached a peak.
Neither of my maternity leaves felt like a vacation. I was recovering from c-sections while navigating life with a newborn who came without an instruction manual. Every other mother I spoke to painted maternity leave as a blissful experience, filled with joy and fulfillment. No one mentioned the difficulty, and I began to think I was somehow doing it wrong. I felt shame for looking forward to a rare outing to the grocery store alone, believing I was a terrible mom.
Fast forward to today—my girls are now eight and nine. My ex-husband has become more accommodating, recognizing the challenges of raising pre-teen daughters. Our custody arrangement has evolved, granting me more time with them than I ever imagined. I now have both girls on Sundays, every other weekend, and dedicated time during the week.
I take immense pride in my time away from them. I bake, organize community events, attend meetings, and even enjoy sleeping in. This time has allowed me to discover my own identity and set boundaries. I have grown confident in who I am, and I now love myself. To those who claim they couldn’t survive a minute without their children, I say: “Let’s be honest. It’s okay to enjoy your own company.”
In the U.S., there’s a pervasive belief that mothers should center their lives around their children. If you don’t treasure every moment, you’re deemed a bad parent. If you admit to feeling stressed or embrace time away from your kids, you’re labeled as neglectful. We often ostracize those who find joy in their freedom and fail to share the reality of motherhood. We paint an idyllic picture that doesn’t always reflect the truth.
What we truly need is honesty and support from one another. We should share our stories, offer advice, and acknowledge the challenges we face. It’s vital to allow women the space to appreciate their independence and find themselves. If we can’t provide that support, we should at least listen with compassion. Many of us share similar struggles, and breaking the illusion of perfection in motherhood can foster connection.
Now, when people ask how I manage everything, I can confidently say it’s because I’ve learned to prioritize my time. I’ve come to understand my limits, and I treasure my moments of independence. While I often plan activities for my kids, I also carve out time just for me. This absence from my children allows me to cherish the time I do spend with them even more. After all, that’s what truly matters.
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In summary, having my own life has made me a better parent. The time I take for myself allows me to be more present and engaged when I’m with my children, and that’s what truly counts.