As a parent, finding a moment of solitude can feel like an unattainable dream. Just last year, I had a week off from work, and against all odds, I found myself alone at home. Well, as close to alone as one can get—my partner, Jane, had taken our two eldest out, and our 1-year-old was napping.
If you were to ask me about my ideal getaway, I’d jokingly say, “A large pizza and all the TV to myself.” But there’s a kernel of truth in that jest. As the parent of three kids under 9, I often yearn for alone time. I imagine all the tasks I could tackle without kids around: my home would be tidier, I’d have the chance to get fit, I could indulge in movies other than the endless loop of animated classics, and I’d finally have the time to read and socialize without interruptions. In essence, I fantasize about a life that isn’t solely focused on my children.
Many parents share this sentiment, and it doesn’t stem from a lack of love for their kids. Trust me, I adore my children. Yet, there’s no “off” switch when it comes to parenting. The breaks are rare, making us crave them even more. However, this longing can backfire; when I finally do get some time to myself, I often feel like I’m doing something wrong. There’s a strange mix of guilt and anxiety that comes with alone time, as if I should be doing something more productive for my family.
Take, for example, that day when Aspen was asleep, and I started watching a mindless action movie on Netflix—a guilty pleasure I rarely indulge in due to Jane’s aversion to the genre and the kids being too young for it. As I watched, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should be doing something else, although I struggled to pinpoint what that “something” was.
This sense of guilt creeps in whenever I have time to myself. I crave it, yet when it arrives, I find myself worrying. I feel anxious, as if I should be focusing on my children or fulfilling family obligations. Strangely, it feels like a piece of me is missing when my kids aren’t around.
After nearly a decade of fatherhood, I’ve managed to cling to two hobbies: cycling (which I can feel slipping away) and writing. I write daily, but only during the early morning hours when everyone else is asleep. This way, I can avoid feeling guilty about dedicating time to an activity that’s just for me. For those without children, this may seem irrational, but this is the reality of parenting—it’s all-consuming.
My kids are my passion. They occupy my thoughts, my worries, and my conversations, and they’ve become the primary subject of my writing as well. While it might sound like an obsession, it’s more about understanding the profound impact they’ve had on my life. I recently watched a documentary called The Other F Word, which explored how former punk rockers from the ’90s have transitioned into fatherhood. There was a powerful quote from Flea, the bassist of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, that resonated with me: “The classic parenting attitude to a kid is like, ‘I brought you into this world. I gave you life.’ But it’s like, I just think completely the opposite: My kids gave me life. You know? They gave me a reason.”
I can relate to this sentiment. Reflecting on my life before kids, I realize I was merely existing—watching movies, biking for hours, and hanging out with friends, thinking I was living life. I hadn’t truly experienced purpose or struggle. Helping my son learn to ride a bike or teaching my daughter to write brings me a level of satisfaction that far outweighs any personal achievements.
This is why I often feel unproductive during my rare alone moments. I have this nagging sense that I should be doing something more significant, because parenting is indeed something more. It’s the most challenging yet rewarding endeavor I’ve ever undertaken. Despite the moments of frustration that make me want to escape, I look back on those chaotic times and realize I’ve contributed to my children’s growth into better individuals, and that brings immense satisfaction.
Just as I was settling into my movie, Aspen woke up. But that was fine—I wasn’t even paying attention anymore. I switched off the TV and went to her room, where she reached out from her crib, her messy golden hair framing her face. She was crying, so I quickly found her pacifier.
“Did you miss me?” I asked, and she reached up to touch my face. She calmed down and replied, “I missed you too.”
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In summary, the struggle for alone time as a parent is real, and it comes with its own unique set of emotions. While we crave solitude, it often brings about feelings of guilt and worry, making it hard to fully enjoy those moments. Yet, the love and fulfillment we gain from our children ultimately outweigh any sense of longing for personal time.
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