The first time I handed my three children over to my ex-husband, I found myself parked in a nearby lot, struggling to compose myself. I was not in a state to drive, but I managed to leave without my kids witnessing my breakdown. Their first night with their father deserved to be filled with excitement, not overshadowed by visions of their mom in tears. He was thrilled to have them, and they were eager to experience their new surroundings.
As I sat there, the snow transitioned to rain, and I realized I was craving breakfast. I considered a quick stop at McDonald’s for a sausage biscuit, but I ended up just staring blankly at passing cars for an hour. I could have returned to hang out with them—my ex and I maintained a friendly relationship. I could have connected with my best friend or visited my mom or sister. I could have indulged in a pedicure or accepted an invitation from an old friend for dinner, or even gone to the movies. However, I chose to remain there, feeling utterly lost and unfit for socializing. I ended up crying over that sausage biscuit, which felt like a necessary ritual to mourn the loss of our previous family structure.
It struck me on the drive home: I had a choice. I could wallow in despair every time I dropped my kids off, isolating myself and declining social invitations, or I could embrace this challenging situation and take the opportunity to rediscover myself. I opted for the latter. This is my reality now, and I refuse to be miserable when my kids are away. More importantly, I don’t want them to feel sorry for me while they create memories with their father.
That said, I still experience moments of sadness. I’ve faced times where sinking into self-pity seemed tempting. Yet I have learned that it’s possible to miss my children and still enjoy myself during their absence. This journey has been one of the toughest I’ve faced, but it has also been incredibly rewarding. I have found healing in making the most of my time alone.
I now prioritize dinner with friends at least once a week, indulge in movies, and treat myself to pedicures. I also cherish my solitude when needed. I have adapted my life to make this experience bearable for everyone involved, recognizing that my kids will spend nearly half their time with their father until they grow up.
It took significant effort to reach this point. I didn’t instantly transform into a person who thrives without my kids; it required dedication to make my time apart as fulfilling as possible. A year later, I still grapple with pangs of sadness. There are evenings when I push myself to socialize when all I want is to stay under the covers. However, when I do decide to go out, I always end up grateful for the connection.
I want my happiness to be independent of my children’s presence, and I believe they feel the same. Children can sense their parent’s emotional state, so when they ask about my time apart, I take joy in sharing my experiences while genuinely expressing my excitement for their return.
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In summary, navigating shared custody has taught me the value of embracing time alone. By shifting my perspective, I have found joy in rediscovering my own identity while maintaining a healthy relationship with my children and their father.