Picture this: warm sun, soft sand, a refreshing cocktail in hand, and… tears streaming down my face? After months, possibly years of anticipating this getaway, my first solo trip since becoming a parent (that’s 15 years, folks), I found myself quietly sobbing behind my sunglasses. I knew I was in trouble, but the comfort of the hammock I’d settled into, with a breathtaking view of the sunset, kept me rooted.
Maybe it was sheer exhaustion. Two flights with a long layover in between had me awake for over 24 hours. Or perhaps it was hunger — those kale chips and gluten-free snacks weren’t exactly hitting the spot. To make matters worse, I was sitting next to an affectionate Swiss couple who seemed to have skipped a shower or two.
Then again, maybe my tears were from sheer joy. I was finally crossing one of my bucket list items off — learning to surf — and the excitement was overwhelming. Yes, yes, and yes. A mix of fatigue, hunger, and happiness could easily explain the tears, but why was I suddenly sobbing uncontrollably once I rolled out of that hammock and made my way to my room?
I collapsed onto the crisp white sheets of the king-sized bed that was all mine for the week and lost it. After years spent caring for my three daughters, navigating their ups and downs, mediating their sibling squabbles, I was finally alone — and I felt a deep sense of loneliness.
In my eagerness for an adventure, I hadn’t considered how being away from my daily life would feel. I didn’t think I’d miss it. I’m someone who craves alone time daily; it’s vital for my mental health. A quick 20 minutes here or an hour there to regroup is how I manage the chaos. This “me time” is usually a patchwork of organizing, exercising, and a few moments of stillness (not quite meditation, as I struggle with that).
I’ve enjoyed the occasional night away and cherish my annual girls’ weekend, but they’re fleeting. Now, I had an entire week away from my kids, husband, and home, and I was panicking. I should’ve been reveling in the freedom from motherhood’s demands. My husband is more than capable of handling the kids solo, and my older girls are mostly self-sufficient. Sure, my 5-year-old needs more attention, but she can manage her own snacks and even wipe her own butt. They know how to do laundry and where the grocery store is.
So why couldn’t I let go of home?
When my two older daughters were toddlers and my youngest hadn’t arrived yet, I desperately longed for a break. The few hours I had on Saturdays while my husband took the kids were barely enough for me to recharge. The idea of a tropical escape where I could sleep, read, and not have a small child clinging to me felt like a distant dream. I craved that time away; I needed it.
Fast forward a decade, and here I was living the dream — only the dream felt like it was still back home. It took being thousands of miles away to realize that I no longer needed a break from my life. Not anymore.
I didn’t miss the juggling acts of parenting. What I missed were my kids — their laughter, their quirky humor, their challenges, and my role in helping them through it all. Family life is demanding and requires hard work to keep everything running smoothly, but I’ve come to accept it. I don’t need to escape; my life is filled with chaos, love, and the mundane routines that make it all worthwhile.
That night, I cried myself to sleep listening to the lullaby playlist my 5-year-old listens to at bedtime. I woke up with puffy eyes, still missing my family but eager to discover who I was outside of being “Mom.” And guess what? I turned out to be quite the surfer after all.
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Summary
After taking a long-awaited solo vacation, a mother realizes that, despite the chaos of family life, she doesn’t actually need a break from her kids. While feeling overwhelmed by her emotions, she discovers a deeper appreciation for her role as a parent and embraces her identity beyond motherhood.