Parenting
I awoke too early this morning with that familiar sensation: a subtle tightness in my chest, a nagging feeling that something was amiss despite the peacefulness of the day ahead, and a low buzz in my mind that kept me from returning to sleep, even though I had the opportunity to do so.
Theoretically, I could drift back into slumber since my 8-year-old wouldn’t wander into my room and snatch the covers after dawn; I could, because an hour later, my older daughter wouldn’t be attempting to persuade me to lift my ban on morning electronics. Although these behaviors can be somewhat annoying—especially before I’ve had my coffee—this morning, I was acutely aware of my lack of irritation.
More critically, I was uncomfortably conscious of my children’s absence, as they had spent the previous nights at their father’s house.
I miss my children.
And, somewhat paradoxically, I find happiness in that feeling.
When my partner and I separated, we didn’t need to negotiate custody arrangements; we had previously decided, long before the arrival of our children, that in the event of a divorce, we would share parenting responsibilities equally. In fact, during the more harmonious days of raising an infant and a toddler, we often joked about including an escape clause in our agreement: “If one of us leaves, that person must take the kids.”
Once we decided to separate, our initial theory remained intact in practice. We both cherished our time with the kids, but we also openly acknowledged our desire for breaks from parenting—time to recharge, focus on work, socialize, organize the home, travel, and perhaps even date. While we loved the cozy mornings and family dinners, we also valued the freedom to sleep in or indulge in a simple dinner of cheese and crackers while watching television. Thus, sharing custody seemed to be the fairest solution.
Deep down, I worried not that I would miss my kids when they were gone, but that I would resent their return. I feared that I would relish my alone time too much, become accustomed to the absence of chaos, and enjoy my newfound freedom more than I should. I worried that the challenges which led to our separation had also affected my ability to parent. Would I discover that I was a selfish mother, lacking the love necessary to want my children around half the time, let alone all the time? I fretted that I might not miss them at all during their absence.
In hindsight, I realize I was too hard on myself. The process of separation—even one that is relatively amicable—is not an ideal time to gauge one’s feelings about parenting in the long run. The months preceding and following our decision to split were among the most stressful of my life. My ex and I were navigating our new reality—attempting to share space and co-parent in as graceful a manner as possible, though it was undeniably painful. Eventually, we began a gradual moving-out process until he found a new place. Our home, once filled with comfort, became a site of discomfort, and the nights spent at friends’ homes felt like a welcome respite from the responsibilities of parenting. However, they also carried their own challenges; as one friend remarked during that time, “You may have many safe places to stay, but right now you don’t have a safe place to live.”
During that transitional period, the demands of my children remained consistent. Given my already stretched emotional resources, it’s understandable that parenting—one of the most emotionally taxing endeavors—felt overwhelming. It’s also understandable that my time alone felt precious, even as I experienced a growing sense of alienation from my family. My time at home felt nearly non-existent due to the chaos of packing and unpacking, managing laundry, and figuring out what to do with leftovers in the fridge. I had been prescribed some anti-anxiety medication, which I used sparingly, typically on days when I returned “home.”
Fortunately, that transitional phase is now behind us. My ex found a new place, and we divided our belongings. When his moving truck departed, I felt a mix of relief and anxiety, as if I could finally exhale after months of tension. The children began to transition between their “new” and “old” homes, and during their absence, I immersed myself in a whirlwind of nesting—painting, decluttering, organizing, and redecorating. When they were with me, I felt calmer and more content, better able to engage with them without the weight of stress.
When they left, I missed them—not in an overwhelming, emotional way—but rather in small moments: a twinge at drop-off when I knew they would be at their father’s house, or when I put away toys and books that would remain untouched for days. There’s currently an Archie comic in the bathroom, and each time I see it, I smile, thinking about them returning to read it. The uncertainty of their dinner plans and weekend activities when they’re not with me still feels strange. By the fourth or fifth day without them, I often feel restless and unsettled.
Thus, it was a relief the first time I noticed those twinges of longing; it signified that I wasn’t a selfish, unloving mother. I am a woman emerging from a challenging year—a devoted parent deeply in love with her children, committed to providing them with a secure home even during our time apart. I miss them when they are gone, but the silver lining is that they always return. After separation, I couldn’t ask for more.
When my kids are not with me, I keep busy. My solo dinners often consist of cheese and crackers paired with a glass of wine in front of the television. I work, socialize, exercise, and meditate. I’ve even begun contemplating dating. I find joy in my activities, and even while enjoying my time alone, I still miss my children—and I embrace that feeling.
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Summary
Navigating the complexities of shared parenting after a separation can evoke mixed emotions. While the absence of children can lead to a sense of relief and newfound freedom, it also brings moments of longing that reveal deep love and commitment to their well-being. Embracing the joy of alone time while missing their presence represents a balanced approach to motherhood.