Last year, I had a week off from work and, surprisingly, found myself home alone with my three kids. Well, as close as I could get — my partner, Jamie, took our two older ones out, and our 1-year-old was napping.
If you were to ask me what my ideal getaway looks like, I’d jokingly say, “A big pizza and the TV all to myself.” But there’s a grain of truth in it. As a parent of three under 10, I yearn for a moment to breathe without the kids around. I often daydream about all the things I could accomplish if I had that time. My home would be tidier, I’d have a fitness routine, I could indulge in movies other than the endless loop of animated features, and I might even find time to read or connect with friends. I’d like to experience a life that isn’t solely focused on my children.
I believe many parents share these sentiments, and it’s not because we love our kids any less—I absolutely do. The truth is, there’s no real “off” button in parenting. Breaks are rare, making us crave them even more. Yet, when we finally get a moment to ourselves, a strange guilt creeps in, causing us to feel unproductive or neglectful.
For instance, with little Ava sleeping and the older kids gone, I started watching an action movie on a streaming platform—something I usually can’t enjoy because Jamie isn’t a fan and the kids are too young for such content. Yet, as I watched, guilt washed over me. I felt like I should be doing something, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what that “something” was.
This guilt surfaces every time I find myself alone. I crave that solitude, yet when it arrives, anxiety takes over. I feel uneasy, as if I should be doing something for my children or family. Honestly, it feels like there’s a void when my kids aren’t around.
It’s a peculiar feeling, and I’m not entirely sure why it happens, but I suspect it has a lot to do with how profoundly parenthood transforms us.
Having been a father for nearly a decade, I’ve held onto two main hobbies: cycling and writing. I write daily, but only in the early morning when everyone else is asleep, so I won’t feel guilty for taking that time for myself. For those without kids, it might seem odd to stress over carving out personal time, but that’s the nature of parenting—it’s all-consuming.
My children are my passion. I think about them constantly, worry about them, talk about them, and honestly, most of my writing revolves around them. While it might sound like an obsession, it’s simply how I feel.
I recently watched a documentary, The Other F Word, which featured members of ’90s punk bands who are now fathers. One quote struck me: Flea, from the Red Hot Chili Peppers, said, “The classic parenting attitude is, ‘I brought you into this world. I gave you life.’ But I think the opposite: My kids gave me life. They gave me a reason.”
And I can relate to that. Reflecting on my life before kids—the movies, long bike rides, carefree hangouts—I realize I was merely existing. I hadn’t truly lived or understood purpose and struggle. Helping my son learn to ride a bike is far more fulfilling than riding alone, and teaching my daughter to write brings me more joy than finishing any essay.
This is why, when I get some time to myself, I feel unproductive. Parenting is about something bigger; it’s the most demanding yet rewarding thing I’ve ever done. Even in moments of frustration, when I fantasize about escaping into the woods, I remember those chaotic times and feel a sense of accomplishment in helping my children grow into better individuals.
Just as I was getting into the movie, Ava woke up. It was a gentle reminder of what truly matters. I headed to her room, where she reached for me from her crib, her messy hair framing her sleepy face. After calming her down and finding her pacifier, I asked, “Did you miss me?” She touched my face softly, and I smiled, saying, “I missed you too.”
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In summary, the struggle to enjoy alone time as a parent is rooted in the guilt and anxiety that often accompany it. While we crave personal moments, the love for our children and the responsibilities of parenting can overshadow our desire for solitude.