I am a solitary creature. I’ve been like this since I was a kid, when I would happily lock myself in my room for hours and read and write to my heart’s content. Before I had children, when I was very young, I often traveled to this country alone. Once, I drove alone from my home in New York to California and back again.
Whenever I lack the alone time I crave, I feel a little crazy. I felt disconnected from myself, which in turn made me feel disconnected from everyone around me and the universe at large.
As a mother, staying alone can be difficult. As a single mom, this is nearly impossible. You are more or less always surrounded by other people. Now if I have surrounded anyone 24-7, my kids will definitely be the first choice. All in all, it’s not healthy to be alone forever. Also, for someone like me who is naturally lonely, this is very difficult.
I often reflect that my need for solitude as a single mother may have played a small role in shaping my life. I certainly didn’t mean it, but who knows what was going on in the bigger picture, the grand plan, the destined affection. Before having kids, I lived mostly alone. I have never lived with a man before or since my daughter’s father. Being single is as much a part of me as motherhood. Hence, single moms.
I have a deep connection with all three of my children. It’s hard to leave them. This was not possible for me when they were babies, I completely refused to do it to be honest, and it’s still emotionally difficult for my teenagers. I’m worried. I miss them. I love the feeling of having all three of them tucked neatly under my wings like a hen. I love being constantly aware of their presence, their emotions, their health and well-being. But unfortunately, when you live like this day after day, year after year, sometimes it does more harm to you as a parent than it does a blessing to your children. Sometimes I feel my soul crying, longing for those moments of being alone before becoming a mother. When I have no one to answer to, no one who needs me. When I can drive for hours until I reach another state, or when I can simply take myself out to dinner with no more company than a pad and pen.
When you become a mother, loneliness is no longer an issue. This is not the case. It’s a dynamic exchange that’s worth its weight in gold, but like any compromise in life, it comes with a price. Sometimes it’s easy to get into debt. Sometimes it stings like a bitch.
Not only is your loneliness excluded, but I think even more painful than that, you anonymous Also disappeared. I usually have access to child care when I need it, when I’m at a job interview, at work, or for adult activities. However, I have never been able to get child care without someone asking me where I was going, what I was doing, and who I was doing it with. As a grown woman this sucks. Very bad. The young girl in me would jump on her bike and disappear for hours to explore the world, while she herself screamed inside me, I’m still here!
I’m not complaining. If I had to do it over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. My children give me more heart and contentment than they would in their absence. I’m just stating the facts. The truth is, losing yourself is hard. It hurts to never be alone. It’s not healthy for you, and when you’re not healthy, it’s not good for your kids.
The impact of the entire situation became a force that I had to face. I spend a lot of time being a mom, a single mom, which means I work pretty much non-stop. There are people all around. constantly. Go home, kids. Get to work, people. This cycle can be exhausting for anyone, but it can be especially difficult for loners. It’s especially difficult for people like me.
This year has been the hardest year of my life for reasons I won’t go into here. I have suffered personal tragedy and loss. For the past three months, my heart has been in a state of sadness and mourning. I hide a lot. I don’t want my kids to see me sad. I don’t want anyone to think of me any other way except that they think I’m a strong single mom. So my pain sat deep inside me, threatening to explode. It builds. It took over. I became angry, spiteful, distant, and upset. Pain has a way of forcing you to face it. We all do it differently. As for me, I know all I really need is some quiet alone time. It’s time to heal. I just feel guilty for asking. So I don’t.
This past weekend, I stole myself out of my life. I was invited to a lake in the north to mingle with a group of people, several of whom were my friends. I called my dad, my right-hand man, to see if he could help with the kids so I could spend the weekend. He agreed. However, as the date neared, I began to rethink my plans. Do I really want to take time off from work and the kids to go to the lake with a group of people I see all the time? Really? Why? Because if I have a “plan,” a “friend,” a “destination,” it’s so much easier to ask for help. The night before I left, I decided to do something I hadn’t done since I was pregnant with my first child sixteen years ago. I wanted to run away. just me. There is no one else. Everyone has their favorite place. My place is the ocean. I haven’t seen it all year since last summer. What’s more, I haven’t been to it alone in almost twenty years.
I hope that when I get ready to leave on Friday, my dad won’t want me to reiterate my plans to him. But as I mentioned before, being a mom doesn’t equal anonymity, and of course he asked me again. “So are you going to the lake with your friends?” I did something in that moment that I had never done, let alone with my dad, who is one of the most important people in my life. I lied. “Yes.” I said casually.
But I didn’t go to the lake. I didn’t go with friends. I got in the car and started driving towards the ocean without looking back. I drove alone for hours, through torrential rain, thunderstorms, and even minor floods. I drove half-blindly, not knowing where I was going. I didn’t want to go to a place I used to vacation in as a kid and had taken my own kids there a few times. I want my own place. A new place. A place where my soul can find itself again. The only map I follow is the one written in my heart. As I drove, I reflected. Reflecting on myself, my life, my children, my journey as a mother. I look back at the past year, the person I lost, the part of me I lost. I sobbed. I laughed wildly. I sang with all my strength. and I reconnected.
As so often happens, when you let go and completely trust your intuition and the universe, I ended up in a perfect place where I was always meant to be in that moment and had never been before. It was dark when I got there and the rain was still pouring. I wrote a little bit. I took a hot bath. I slept. I woke up the next day ready to see and embrace the ocean.
What does it have to do with the ocean? I cried as I wrote this. Such a sap. But really, the enormity of it, the way it starts but never ends, it seems to somehow wash away every ailment of body and soul you’ve ever suffered in one fell swoop. The way it embraces you, comforts you, and accepts you completely. I need it more than I can express. I need to be there for the moment. For me, this little break. When I began my journey to motherhood, I gave up my freedom. A connection to the person deep within me. I stole this day from my life. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. No regrets. Bliss. Calm. clear.
I stay for as long as I feel my soul needs. I meditated listening to the sound of the waves. I play in the water. I thought about everything and nothing. I began to heal.
When I was ready, I started my journey home. It’s different than riding there. The sky no longer cries, and I no longer cry. I was ready to meet my baby. It only took two short days of anonymous solitude to restore my previously chaotic mind to a normal and happy state.
I knew that when I told my father about my journey, he would forgive me for my white lies. I knew he would understand that I was following my heart and there was simply no way I could get anyone to follow me at that moment. I’m a good mother. I have been a good mom every day for the past sixteen years, and not just once. I have always been a good employee, daughter and friend. But last weekend, I was just myself. I’m more suited to this, very well. You know who else would do it better?
my children.
