I’ve always been someone who craves personal space. Living with anyone outside of my family has proven challenging; I’ve never managed to cohabitate with a roommate for more than a year before I drove them away. While it’s not something I take pride in, it’s a part of who I am, and I’ve come to terms with it. Yes, I’m an introvert.
However, life doesn’t always accommodate my need for solitude, leading to a series of compromises throughout my upbringing. College introduced me to the trials of shared dorm bathrooms, where I quickly learned the locations of the few that offered privacy. After all, I wasn’t keen on waking up at 3 AM just to have a moment to myself.
When I got married, I found myself sharing a bathroom again, but this time it came with the added responsibility of cleaning it. This wasn’t exactly what I envisioned! As if sharing a bathroom with a man wasn’t enough, I also had to share my bed—not in a romantic way, mind you, but in the snoring, blanket-stealing, hogging way. More than once, I considered cutting the covers right down the middle, though my husband would likely toss his half off the bed anyway.
Once the children arrived, any hope of finding “me time” for the next decade vanished. I now share a bathroom with three boys, often at the same time, and I can’t recall the last time I used the toilet without an audience. Even my husband follows me into the bathroom to chat, knowing it’s the only spot in the house where I’m momentarily still.
I adore my boys, but at times, that love can feel overwhelming. Losing touch with the essence of who I was before becoming a mom is all too easy.
Last week, I reached my breaking point. My in-laws had been staying with us for two weeks, and the atmosphere was tense. After putting the kids to bed one night, I found myself stuck in my son’s bed, trapped by his limbs and overwhelmed by heat and discomfort, all while avoiding the socially painful situation brewing downstairs. I simply couldn’t take it anymore.
I freed myself from my son’s grasp, got dressed, kissed my husband goodbye, and bolted from the house as if it were on fire. My heart raced with a mix of thrill and guilt for abandoning my family obligations, even if just for a night, and I had no destination in mind. The thought of freedom was intoxicating.
I drove around, blasting music, singing at the top of my lungs, completely out of tune but relishing the moment since no one was around to judge. Eventually, I treated myself to a solo movie—something I’d never done before. As I soaked in the theater’s ambiance, I felt my body finally start to relax after weeks of tension. I was hooked, and like any new addict, I thought, “I want more.”
Having grown accustomed to prioritizing everyone else’s needs, especially when it comes to bathroom and meal times, I had forgotten how liberating it is to indulge in something purely selfish. Now that I’ve tasted this forbidden fruit, there’s no turning back.
My mind raced with ideas of indulgences I wanted to embrace: the small things I often overlook but desperately crave.
- I want to wake up one morning to mimosas, even if it’s not a vacation day. I’m a responsible adult, after all, and I can have a drink at 7 AM if I choose!
- I want to take the scenic route while driving just to replay my favorite song for the fourteenth time. This time, I’ll nail the performance!
- I want to dress up for no reason and host a dance party in my living room—not just a casual sway, but a full-on, fist-pumping, head-banging, “Flashdance” extravaganza that only comes out in my wildest dreams.
- I want to treat myself to something unnecessary, even if it’s just a new shade of nail polish or some sparkly lip gloss. Lingerie only counts if I’d be embarrassed to have my dad fold my laundry.
- I want to leave the house a mess and go to bed early, hoping the cleaning elves will work their magic while I sleep.
- I want to stay out late, dine at a restaurant, and order nothing but dessert and drinks. What’s the point of adulthood if I can’t occasionally have cake and ice cream for dinner?
- I want to be just me—alone. And that’s perfectly fine.
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Keyphrase: Finding Time for Yourself as a Parent
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