I said goodbye to the kids. Baby Sam drooled all over my face while his twin brother Ellis seemed more interested in the fake frying pan he was holding. Their big sister, Audrey, was also distracted, leafing through a book from her pile. I kissed her cheek.
Why was I lying about this trip? I wasn’t entirely sure. All I knew was that taking time away from my three small children was not a choice I should be sharing.
At the airport, I checked in and wheeled my carry-on bag to the gate. The bag held summer clothes that didn’t really fit any more and my trusty breast pump. I grabbed a coffee, sipped it slowly, and enjoyed the fact that no little hands were pawing at my hot drink.
It occurred to me how few people I’d told about this trip to visit my brother. I’d casually left it out of quite a few playdate conversations and friend updates. And when I did tell people, I cut the duration short, saying how many days I’d be with my brother but omitting the travel days on either end. Why was I lying about this trip? I wasn’t entirely sure. All I knew was that taking time away from my three small children was not a choice I should be sharing.
It wasn’t the first time I’d be apart from the kids, but at five days it was definitely the longest. I’d crammed a fair bit of grown-up time into the twins’ first year, thanks to a generous group of friends and family who supported us. Three weeks postpartum, my mom watched the boys so my husband and I could eat a meal in peace and celebrate our eighth anniversary. And over the winter, we’d been to a few movies.
My husband and I also gifted each other with kid-free hours, usually once a week. Without ever saying it out loud, I knew we both believed that in order to be the best parents possible, we needed time alone.
Long before our first kid arrived, we watched how our friends coped with the transition to family life. One couple we knew started going out on dates immediately after their first child was born. They nurtured their hobbies and friendships and created opportunities for date nights. Another couple disappeared for several years while their kids were little, building a beautiful cocoon of love for their children.
It’s 2020, and my husband gets praised for the basic parenting stuff: feeding and clothing the children. But I go out alone for a coffee, and people still ask me who’s watching the kids.
Both parenting paths are perfectly valid. So why did I feel the need to hide my choices and this trip? An interaction with an acquaintance helped me understand what was going on.
“My daughter-in-law’s in New York,” she told me, using a stage whisper clearly meant to convey disdain. “She’s away for a week! And it’s not even for work. Ben has to watch the kids the whole time!”
It didn’t matter that I believed Ben and the kids would probably benefit from the time, just like I believed that the relationship between my kids and my husband grew stronger any time I was away. In that moment, all I felt was the hot rush of … what? Was it embarrassment? Guilt? No, it was something more intense than either of those emotions. This nauseous, fevered rush of toxic waste could only be one thing: shame. It’s an emotion that I feel often as a mother of three young children.
A generation ago, our mothers buried themselves in the muck of parenting. Consequently, many of us had lovely bonds with them, and many happy memories, but we also had mothers who never put themselves first. They lost themselves in the roles of provider and giver, and many of those women are only now learning that motherhood is a time and place to be selfish, especially when it helps preserve more of your own identity and your health.
These days, many of us are rejecting the notion that being a good mother means sacrificing one’s self completely. Sadly, though, we’re prioritizing our needs in a culture that still loves to judge mothers. It’s 2020, and my husband gets praised for the basic parenting stuff: feeding and clothing the children. But I go out alone for a coffee, and people still ask me who’s watching the kids.
Pulled between twin babies and a clingy toddler, my body may not feel like it’s mine most days, but solo time gives me the energy I need to meet the needs of my children.
We’re charting a new possibility for parenting in the age of righteous indignation. With so much public shaming, it’s easy to feel like the world thinks you’re not good enough. The expectations mothers place on themselves are loudly reinforced by all forms of media, which perpetuates a vicious cycle.
I’ve persisted in taking the time, though, even if I know that the world judges me, both silently and out loud. The alone time I’ve taken has been essential, whether it’s an hour at a cafe, a yoga class, an afternoon with a friend. Away from my family, I usually spend the first five or ten minutes worrying about the kids, but if I’m patient, the discomfort fades away. Pulled between twin babies and a clingy toddler, my body may not feel like it’s mine most days, but solo time gives me the energy I need to meet the needs of my children.
And I’m realizing that it doesn’t serve me or anyone else when I hide parts of my life. Social media has taught us how to airbrush out the trickier parts of our lives, but it doesn’t do much to foster real connections. If honesty is the path to deep connection, then I shouldn’t hide the kind of parent I am from the world. For me, alone time is essential. It supports my mental health and helps me thrive as a parent. So I’ll continue taking time for myself often, returning to my kids with renewed enthusiasm and energy. More importantly, I will try to do it without shame.
Like this piece? Subscribe to our newsletter for real stories about women on their journey to motherhood.