It was just after 8 a.m. on a Saturday when my partner, Sarah, confessed to feeling sleep-deprived. Curious about her bedtime, I asked her when she finally hit the hay. With three little ones in the house, I figured I would have noticed if she was up late, especially since our youngest, Leo, slept in later than usual this morning.
“A little after 1 a.m.,” she replied, her eyes heavy with fatigue. My instinct was to scoff and dive into a lecture. “Why on earth would you stay up that late?” I asked. “Didn’t you see me head off to bed around 10 p.m.?” As I left the living room, she assured me, “I’ll be there in a bit.” But clearly, that “bit” turned into a few hours.
This wasn’t the first time Sarah had sacrificed sleep for what seemed like no reason. Ever since becoming parents, I had embraced early bedtimes, prioritizing sleep above all else. Between nighttime wake-ups and juggling two jobs, I snatched every chance to catch some Z’s. But Sarah? She had a different rhythm.
After nearly 12 years of marriage, with 9 of those spent parenting, I noticed that Sarah began staying up late when our first son turned into a toddler. Over time, we’d drifted into a pattern where we rarely went to bed at the same time. I missed those shared moments of falling asleep side by side, but what baffled me more was her tendency to stay up late doing who-knows-what, only to complain about her lack of sleep the next day. It reminded me of my teenage years, burning the candle at both ends for no good reason.
We were both chronically tired. I worked, and Sarah had recently wrapped up her classes. I understood her late nights during school—homework was a legitimate reason. But now? I was lost.
She didn’t answer my question right away, and I wondered if she was grappling with her own feelings. Still in her pajamas, hair in a messy ponytail, Sarah took a moment while our kiddos munched on breakfast. As she crossed her legs on the sofa, I felt her contemplation. I was about to press her for a commitment to an earlier bedtime when she finally spoke.
“I spend all day with the kids. All day. And when they’re not around, I’m with you, which I love, but I just…” She paused. “I need some me time.”
I leaned back, pondering her words. I had never really understood the need for “me time.” Sure, I craved sleep, but that was a different beast altogether.
“What do you mean by ‘me time’?” I asked.
With an exhale, Sarah seemed to struggle to articulate her feelings, “I want to sit on the couch without someone climbing all over me. I need a breather from the constant hustle. Sometimes, it’s overwhelming to have little hands all over me. I crave a little peace, to watch something that isn’t a cartoon or a video game, or to read a book that I actually want to read.”
Then she hit me with a revelation that made me pause. “Late at night is the only time I feel like I did before I was a mom.”
I had never considered that aspect of her life. I always thought she adored motherhood. Sure, we had discussed how demanding parenting could be, but I never realized she yearned for moments to reconnect with her pre-mom self.
“Do you not enjoy being a mom?” I asked hesitantly, my stomach tightening with concern.
With a half-smile, she reassured me, “I love the kids, but this is about being alone. Sometimes, I don’t even want you around.”
Her words hit me. “It’s not that I don’t love you or the kids. I just need moments without anyone needing anything from me. Right now, that matters more than sleep. Does that make sense?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “But I respect that.”
Sarah nestled into my side, and for a moment, we sat in comfortable silence.
“So, are you staying up late again tonight?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Okay, I’ll make sure to give you your space.”
This article was originally published on September 20, 2016.