When my first marriage ended, my children were still very young—my eldest was just two, and my youngest had recently turned one. The divorce was swift, but I was the one who initiated it, apprehensive about a prolonged battle. As a result, I agreed to an arrangement where my ex-husband held residential custody, which meant the girls attended school in his district. This arrangement granted him an extra day with them each week, leaving me with Sunday nights, Wednesday nights, and alternating weekends. Our holiday schedule was dictated by a strict local rule, which we adhered to meticulously at first.
Navigating this new chapter as a single mother took a significant emotional toll. I was grappling with the loss of my mother and balancing the demands of parenthood—teaching part-time while working full-time. My marriage had crumbled, and my familiar world felt like it had collapsed. I was unsure whether I was experiencing postpartum depression, a manic episode, or post-traumatic stress; countless doctor visits yielded no clear diagnosis. All I knew was that my life felt overwhelmingly chaotic.
Women around me often remarked, “I can’t imagine how you manage. I wouldn’t know what to do without my kids. You must be so unhappy.” And yes, I was unhappy—but not because I missed my children during those few days apart. I desperately needed that time to piece my life back together. Yet, I was bombarded with the sentiment that I should be suffering in my children’s absence.
It felt like a societal expectation that every mother should be distraught when separated from her kids. I loved my daughters immensely, but I didn’t fit the mold of the mother who sobs the moment she returns to work after maternity leave. Instead, I was the mom looking forward to a peaceful breakfast alone on my first day back at work. It wasn’t that I craved breakfast; I was simply eager to relish a moment of quiet and reflection after 90 days of constant motherhood. My spirit was celebrating, not mourning.
The guilt I carried for enjoying my independence felt suffocating. For years, I internalized the notion that I was a bad mother for treasuring my moments alone. Instead of hearing encouragement like, “That must be great to get some time to yourself,” I felt like an outcast, burdened by the stigma of enjoying my own life.
Reflecting back, my feelings during maternity leave were similar. Those initial 90 days at home were filled with challenges, particularly with a newborn who often screamed for hours. I discovered little tricks to soothe her, like vacuuming her room, though I felt guilty employing such tactics during meltdowns.
Contrary to the narratives I heard from other mothers, my experience was not filled with joy and fulfillment. I felt isolated and ashamed for anticipating a rare moment of solitude, fearing it would label me as a terrible mother.
Now, as my daughters are eight and nine, my ex-husband has become more relaxed about parenting, allowing me more access to the girls. We’ve adjusted our schedule to give me more quality time with them. I now have the girls on Sundays, every other weekend, and designated days during the week. Six years later, I spend more time with them than their father, a turn of events I never expected.
Today, I embrace those non-parenting hours with pride. I engage in hobbies, coordinate community events, sleep in, plan gatherings, and enjoy every moment of freedom. This time has allowed me to rediscover myself and understand my boundaries. I’ve gained confidence and self-love, and to those who claimed they couldn’t live without their children, I say: “LIAR, LIAR, PANTS ON FIRE!”
In the U.S., there’s an entrenched belief that women’s lives should revolve around their children. If you don’t treasure every second spent with your kids, you’re labeled a bad parent. Expressing any stress or embracing moments of solitude can lead to condemnation. This culture often shuns mothers who find fulfillment outside parenting, creating an environment where honesty about struggles is rare. We’re conditioned to present motherhood as a fairy tale filled with joy, leaving many women feeling inadequate when they find it challenging.
What we truly need is authenticity and support. We should share our experiences and insights, allowing one another to navigate the complexities of motherhood without guilt. If we can’t offer support ourselves, we should encourage seeking professional help or simply provide a listening ear. Recognizing that we all share similar struggles can help dismantle the unrealistic standards of motherhood.
People often ask how I manage to juggle everything. The answer lies in the time I’ve carved out for myself. This time, once a source of guilt, is now a cherished aspect of my life. It allows me to appreciate the moments I have with my children and to be fully present during those times. And that, in the end, is what truly matters.
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Summary:
In this article, Jessica shares her journey from a struggling single mother to a confident woman who values her independence as a means to enhance her parenting. She challenges societal expectations that dictate a mother’s worth depends solely on her time spent with her children, advocating for the importance of personal time and self-discovery. By embracing her autonomy, she has cultivated a stronger relationship with her daughters and encourages other mothers to find balance in their own lives.
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