My mother once walked out on us — exasperated, she threw her hands up, turned away, and left. We didn’t hold it against her; we had pushed her as far as she could go. She eventually returned, but there were several long hours when we didn’t know if she would. Let me backtrack a bit.
This week, I found myself in desperate need of a break — a simple, aimless, “just sit and do nothing” kind of break. In the whirlwind of motherhood, these moments can creep up until they’re right there, buzzing in your ear like an annoying fly. After weeks of delivering meals for teacher appreciation, notarizing endless forms, tackling my overflowing work papers, battling the wild garden, and ensuring everyone was fed, I found myself plagued by afternoon headaches that no amount of coffee could cure.
Then, just when I thought it couldn’t get worse, someone shared a picturesque beach photo with perfectly pedicured toes nestled in the sand, which sent me into a deep, dramatic sigh. Perhaps this is just my struggle; you might be breezing through life with ease. But if one more ball drops, or I indulge in yet another on-the-go meal, or if I haven’t had a meaningful chat with my partner in days, or if I have to pick up one more hairball from the floor, I’m on the verge of losing it.
I reminisce about the days when my kids were younger, when a tidy house was a relative concept, and applesauce and ice cream were acceptable dinner options. I remember shuffling around like a frazzled version of Quasimodo, one teething baby on my hip and a clingy toddler glued to my leg. Those mornings before nap time felt like an eternity, filled with broken crayons and diapers. Bless my husband for coming home at the end of those long days; let’s just say I didn’t greet him at the door with pearls and a smile.
Those times weren’t always glamorous. I often gazed out of the “Window of Despair,” questioning my life choices and contemplating how much gas I had left in the car — and how far I could drive. Nowadays, they label such feelings postpartum depression, and thankfully, there’s help available. Back in my childhood, it was simply part of the deal called motherhood, and you were expected to carry on without support.
This brings me to the night my mother left. With my father stationed overseas for a year, my mother found herself alone with three teenagers and two little ones. It was a recipe for chaos: three teens experiencing synchronized PMS, a demanding 5-year-old, and an adventurous toddler always getting into trouble. After 18 years of marriage, my mother had finally begun taking some college courses, and while juggling that with five kids, she decided to prepare a special Sunday roast beef dinner for us all, thinking it might bring us together.
The table was beautifully set with roast, mashed potatoes, rich gravy, rolls, and vegetables — iced tea filled our glasses as we gathered for family time before the upcoming week. No one can recall what ignited the chaos. One of my sisters threw out a snarky remark. Another sister fired back, and before we knew it, it turned into a full-blown food fight, with mashed potatoes flying and screams echoing. When the pitcher of iced tea met the wall, it was a clear sign things had escalated too far.
In the midst of the madness, my third sister grabbed my younger brother from his high chair as he wailed at the chaos. She yanked me into the hallway, her only thought to save the little ones. At some point, someone noticed the glaring absence of our mother. She had left. The driveway was empty, and a heavy silence fell over the dining room. Uh-oh.
Had our father been home, the outcome would have been different; the culprits would have faced serious consequences. Instead, we cleaned up the mess with heads hung low, and my brother and I were tucked into bed without protest. The three older sisters likely sat in their room contemplating how they would manage until Dad returned.
When morning came, there she was in the kitchen, making breakfast as if nothing had happened. We later learned she had driven to the beach, sitting on the dunes for hours, letting the waves calm her spirit while chain-smoking Tareyton 100s. She needed that time to remember her love for us.
We didn’t discuss that day for many years, and it wasn’t until my sisters moved out that my father learned the truth.
Now, on days when I feel overwhelmed, I think back to my mother’s escape and recognize the signs that signal it’s time to step away for a moment to reclaim my sanity. It won’t always feel this way; new blessings come with each day of motherhood, much like the daily arrival of the morning news. I may not be able to retreat to the beach, but I can close the bathroom door and take a few deep breaths. And if it gets too chaotic, I’m off for dinner.
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Summary
Motherhood can be overwhelming, and moments of exhaustion can lead to the need for a break. Reflecting on personal experiences, like the time my mother left us to regain her sanity, reminds us to recognize when we need to step back and breathe. Embracing self-care is essential in the journey of parenting, and finding small moments of peace can make a significant difference.