In the previous year, I found myself with a rare opportunity to enjoy a fleeting moment of solitude. My partner, Sarah, had taken our two older children out, leaving our 1-year-old, Max, napping peacefully. Despite having three kids in the house, for a brief time, I was home alone—or as close to it as one can be.
If you were to ask what constitutes my ideal getaway, I would humorously suggest, “A pizza and a quiet TV.” Though a jest, there’s a kernel of truth in it. As a parent of three children under the age of 9, I often yearn for some personal space. I frequently imagine how much I could accomplish if my kids weren’t around: the house would be tidier, I’d have time to work out, I could indulge in movies that aren’t continuously looping Frozen, and I could even engage in reading or socializing. I’d relish a life that isn’t solely focused on my children.
Many parents share these sentiments—not because we love our kids any less, but rather because parenting lacks an “off” switch. Breaks are scarce, and when they do arrive, guilt often creeps in. It’s an unusual paradox of feeling both unproductive and neglectful when finally presented with alone time.
For instance, while Max slept, I decided to start a Netflix movie—an action flick that I typically wouldn’t watch because Sarah dislikes them, and the kids are too young for such content. As I watched, guilt washed over me. I felt I ought to be doing something more meaningful, though I wasn’t quite sure what that “something” was.
This feeling of guilt is pervasive whenever I find myself alone. I crave these moments, yet when they arrive, anxiety takes hold. I can’t shake the notion that there’s something more pressing I should be doing for my family. In fact, it feels as if something vital is missing when my children aren’t around.
It’s puzzling and frustrating, and I suspect it stems from the transformative experience of parenthood. Over the last decade, I have managed to cling to two hobbies: cycling (which I feel slipping away) and writing. I write daily, but only during the early hours when everyone else is asleep, allowing me to evade guilt and the sense of taking away from family time. To those without children, my concern for stealing time for myself may seem odd. Nevertheless, this is the reality of parenting—it becomes all-encompassing.
My children are my inspiration. They occupy my thoughts, evoke my worries, and dominate my conversations—and, truthfully, they are the focus of my writing. It may seem like an obsession, but it genuinely isn’t.
I once watched a documentary titled The Other F Word, which explored how former punk rockers from the ‘90s transitioned to fatherhood. In it, Flea, the bassist for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, shared a profound perspective on parenting: “The classic parenting attitude is, ‘I brought you into this world. I gave you life.’ But I believe the opposite: my kids gave me life. They provided me with purpose.” I resonate deeply with that sentiment. Reflecting on my life before children—filled with movies, long bike rides, and endless hours with friends—I recognize that I hadn’t truly lived or understood life’s meaning. The satisfaction of teaching my son to ride a bike far surpasses the joy of riding alone, and helping my daughter with her writing brings more fulfillment than completing my best essay.
This realization is why I feel unproductive during my rare moments of solitude. I grapple with the notion that I should be engaging in something of greater significance because, indeed, parenting is something greater. It is the most challenging yet rewarding endeavor I’ve ever undertaken. Even in moments of frustration when I fantasize about escaping into the woods, I reflect on those chaotic times and recognize that I survived them, possibly even contributing to my children’s growth as individuals.
Just as I was engrossed in my movie, Max woke up. It was fine—I had lost interest in the film anyway. I turned off the screen and went to his room. He reached out from his crib, his tousled hair a testament to slumber. As I comforted him, I asked, “Did you miss me?” He touched my face and calmed down. “I missed you too,” I replied.
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In summary, the struggle for parents to enjoy alone time stems from a deep-seated sense of responsibility and connection to their children, making it challenging to fully relax even when given a moment to themselves.
Keyphrase: Parents and Alone Time
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