I’ll always remember my first day back at work after my daughter was born. It was six weeks and four days later, and my husband, Ryan, offered to take her to the sitter since I doubted I could handle it. After a long, tender goodbye filled with kisses and gentle caresses, I finally shut the car door. Ryan glanced back at me through the open window. “Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded, but as he drove away, I stood frozen in place, much like that scene from Hope Floats where Mae Whitman’s character watches her dad leave. I wanted to scream for them to return—my arms ached for my baby, and my feet begged to chase after them. Instead, I just stood there, shoulders trembling, tears streaming down my face. I vowed never to be away from my child again if I could help it.
It’s been nearly 12 years since that day, yet the feeling remains fresh in my memory. Ryan and I have managed to sneak in a few overnight getaways, which, while blissfully quiet, often feel surreal. We enjoy dinners at places that don’t feature crayons and paper tablecloths, and we hit the gym without interruptions. During those moments, we reconnect and remember who we were before parenthood, and when we return to our girls, we feel revitalized.
Several years ago, I planned to attend a writing conference. My daughters were distraught, clinging to my legs with tear-filled eyes despite our discussions leading up to my departure. I hesitated, watching their matching blue eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and hope. After a long ten minutes of indecision, Ryan gently nudged me out the door. The 45-minute drive to the train station was filled with a struggle against tears, and the four-hour train ride to New York City felt almost unnatural without my kids. I wished I could wear a badge that said, “I have three kids!” but I feared people would label me a bad mom for enjoying time away.
Their absence felt like phantom limbs; I half-expected to see them in the hotel mirror alongside me. I survived the blog conference, but it took an entire year before I ventured away again.
Just last week, after a family trip to Washington for spring break, I flew to California for another conference while Ryan took the girls back to New York. They were excited about my nomination for an award, even helping me pick out my outfit. My eldest daughter, Clara, lovingly packed a silver purse, saying, “So you’ll think of me and have me with you.”
This trip felt different. I was eager to meet friends and experience the thrill of the awards ceremony. I took my time after showering to apply the hotel’s complimentary lotion and woke up early for a run without worrying about waking anyone. While I missed my kids, I reveled in the rare chance to be… alone.
After 12 years of parenting, I’ve realized how essential this time away is. I want to be a positive role model for my daughters, demonstrating that life extends beyond the daily grind. If I never take time for myself, what kind of example am I setting?
Do I still feel a strong pull to be at home? Absolutely. But am I grateful I seized the opportunity for those two nights in California, soaking up knowledge and inspiration? Without a doubt.
Will I ever travel without that familiar ache of longing, questioning my choices? I doubt it. The emotional connection of having waited for my children, of feeling their small hands in mine, creates a bond that’s hard to break. Yet, the purpose of these small journeys is to practice for the inevitable day when it won’t be me leaving, but them.
These experiences help us learn to come and go, embracing hugs, love, and the stories we share about our adventures. They remind us of the love we have for one another, preparing us for the day when our children will spread their wings.
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In summary, the journey of motherhood is filled with moments of letting go. From the first day back to work to the thrill of individual adventures, it’s essential to embrace both the connection with our children and the necessity of self-care. These experiences shape us as parents and allow us to model a balanced life for our children.