This morning, I woke up far too early, feeling that familiar tightness in my chest. Despite the calmness of the day ahead, there was a nagging sense that something was off. My mind buzzed quietly, refusing to let me drift back to sleep, even though I had the chance. The reality was that my 8-year-old son wouldn’t sneak into my room to snatch my covers after 6 a.m. and his older sister wouldn’t be trying to convince me to lift my ban on electronics before breakfast. While I usually find those little morning rituals slightly irritating—especially before I’ve had my coffee—today, I felt a strange absence of annoyance.
More importantly, I was acutely aware of my children’s absence. They had spent several nights at their father’s house. I miss them. Yet, oddly enough, I find joy in that feeling.
When my ex and I decided to separate, we didn’t waste any time negotiating custody. We had agreed long before children came along that if we ever divorced, we would share parenting responsibilities equally. In fact, during those exhausting days with a toddler and a baby, we joked about including an escape clause in our 50-50 plan: “If one of us leaves, that person takes the kids.”
Even after we became parents, our theory about shared custody held firm. We both cherished our time with the kids but, if we’re honest, we also craved breaks from parenting. We longed for those cozy mornings and family dinners, but we also appreciated the chances to sleep in or enjoy a simple dinner of cheese and crackers while watching TV. Dividing parenting time seemed like the fairest solution.
Deep down, I feared that I wouldn’t miss my kids enough when they were gone, or worse, that I might resent them when they returned. I worried I would become too accustomed to the peace and quiet, or relish my freedom too much. I was concerned that the stresses that led to our separation would make me less loving, less capable of being the devoted mother I wanted to be.
In retrospect, I shouldn’t have been so hard on myself. Going through a separation—even a relatively amicable one—was not the ideal time to assess how I would feel in the long run. The months surrounding our split were among the most stressful times of my life. My ex and I were trying, albeit painfully, to share our space and co-parent effectively. As we transitioned, I often found myself alternating between our home and crashing with friends. The house we once shared became a place of discomfort, and those nights in guest rooms felt like a temporary escape from the chaos.
During that tumultuous time, my kids were just as demanding as ever (which is to say, very demanding). With my emotional resources already stretched thin, it’s no wonder that parenting felt overwhelming. It made sense that I valued my alone time, even as I felt increasingly detached from my family. My own space felt nonexistent between the constant packing, unpacking, and trying to make sense of it all. My doctor had prescribed some anti-anxiety medication that I only used sparingly, often saving it for the days when I returned “home.”
Thankfully, that transitional phase is now behind us. My ex found a place, and we divided our belongings. When his moving truck came and took away half of our shared possessions, I felt a mix of relief and sadness, as if I could finally breathe again. The kids began to move back and forth between the “new” and “old” houses. When they weren’t with me, I busied myself with home improvement—painting, organizing, redecorating. When they were home, I felt lighter and more present, able to respond to them with love rather than react out of stress.
And when they left, I found myself missing them—not in a gut-wrenching way, but in a subtle, poignant manner. A small ache at drop-off, realizing they’d be at their dad’s for a few days. Or when I put away their books or toys, knowing they wouldn’t be used for a while. There’s even an Archie comic in the bathroom that reminds me of them; I smile each time I see it, knowing they’ll return to read it soon. By the fourth or fifth day without them, I start to feel edgy, a sense of something being off.
So, when I first noticed those pangs of longing, I was strangely relieved. I realized I wasn’t a terrible mother focusing solely on my own needs. Instead, I’m a woman emerging from a challenging year, a mother who loves her children deeply and is committed to creating a secure home for them, even if it’s only half the time. I miss them when they aren’t here, but thankfully, they always come back.
When my kids are with their dad, I stay busy. Sometimes that involves a simple dinner of cheese and crackers paired with a glass of wine while watching TV. I work, socialize, exercise, and even contemplate dating. I enjoy my time alone, and despite that enjoyment, I still miss my children—and I’m genuinely happy about it.
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Summary
Embracing the complexities of shared parenting post-separation can be both challenging and rewarding. It’s normal to miss your children during their time away while also appreciating the moments of solitude. Recognizing this balance is essential for personal growth and effective parenting.
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