Parenting
I Escaped My Life, and It’s Been the Best Decision Ever by Mia Johnson
Updated: November 16, 2016
Originally Published: November 15, 2016
Throughout the day, I could feel the tension building. As morning turned to afternoon and then evening, the constant demands of parenting chipped away at my patience and threatened my sanity. I could feel the frustration bubbling up, the urge to bolt out the front door swelling in my stomach.
Every part of me craved space, a break from the self-imposed trap I had stepped into. I needed to breathe without someone asking for a snack or a toy. I needed to think without the constant cacophony of “Mom! Mom!” ringing in my ears. I longed to reconnect with the person I was before I became “Mama.” It was clear: I had hit my limit.
So, I told my partner I was stepping out, laced up my running shoes, and literally ran away from home.
Now, let me tell you, I’ve never been a fan of exercise, especially running. I’ve always found it unenjoyable, and the elusive runner’s high? Never experienced it. But that day, I ran. I ran like I was being chased, like my very life depended on it. I ran until my heart felt like it might burst through my chest.
I kept putting distance between myself and home—away from my caring partner, my adorable yet demanding kids, and the life we’d built together over the years. I distanced myself from the relentless “Mommy!” and “That’s not fair!” and “I’m starving!” I fled from the chaos, the mess, and the endless cycle of trying to keep up. I escaped from the power struggles, the tantrums, and the incessant noise.
I didn’t look back. I ran down streets, up hills, and around corners. With every step, I felt the tightness in my shoulders—the burden of parenting—start to fade. The pile of annoyances began to drift away, and I started to hear my own thoughts again. I began to feel like myself.
I paused to catch my breath, glancing around at a new neighborhood filled with houses that looked much like mine. I noticed a woman washing dishes through a kitchen window. She didn’t appear to be smiling. Was she a mother too? Did she ever feel the urge to escape?
I turned back toward home and took a deep breath. The urgency that had driven me out began to dissipate. In its place, I felt a familiar tug—a pull to return to my family. I started to walk, my heart steadying in my chest. I was okay. I was whole. I could breathe. I was ready to embrace my role as “Mama” again.
I walked halfway home, then ran the rest of the way. Back to my family. Back to the life I cherish.
That day taught me a crucial lesson about motherhood: it’s completely normal to love your family fiercely while still craving a bit of distance. It’s possible to feel both fulfilled and overwhelmed. Sometimes, you just need to step away to remember who you are outside of your parental role. It’s okay to burst through that front door without guilt.
Most moms I know have felt the urge to run away at times. So when that feeling strikes, listen to it. Slip on your shoes and go. Take in a deep breath, feel the air fill your lungs, and embrace the freedom that lies just beyond your daily routine. Don’t worry about not wanting to come back—you will. You might return home sweaty and exhausted, but your spirit will be rejuvenated.
I’ve made escaping a regular practice, and I can honestly say I’ve never been happier. I wholeheartedly recommend it to my fellow moms. You might discover that stepping away from home is one of the best choices you can make—for yourself and your family.
For more insights on this journey, check out this link, which offers valuable perspectives on self-care and motherhood. If you’re exploring family planning, this is a fantastic resource. Also, consider visiting this for helpful statistics and information on pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, taking a break from parenting can be a refreshing act of self-care. Running away—whether literally or figuratively—can help restore balance and rejuvenate your spirit. The love for your family remains, but so does the necessity of nurturing your own identity.