Every mother’s refrain—I have an hour to myself, what of the 37 things I want to do shall I actually engage in? When my son was little, I’d sometimes spend the little time I had to myself frozen, so many options available, so little time. When he grew up and moved out and I moved to my own small studio apartment, I had time. I missed him. A lot. But I had time.
For years I read. And read. And read.
I’d lay in bed in the mornings. I stared at the walls. I did…nothing. Because I could.
As a mother, almost any time you make a comment to almost anyone about missing alone time or something of the sort, this is the reply you’ll get: Oh but you’re so lucky to be a mom. And the time goes by so fast, they’re grown up before you know it.
Yes. I know. I know that. That’s true. But that message is also shaming. And it gets into our brains.. She’ll grow up so fast, I can’t miss anything. I can have time for me later. Just take a breath and go on. Appreciate every moment, dammit.
But you know what? It doesn’t work that way. Not wanting to miss something doesn’t take away the need to recharge, to feel the luxurious freedom of a few hours to myself. And I’m a better parent when I get that. It doesn’t work to try to just keep pushing on when I’m at my wall. It doesn’t work that way for anyone, at least for any length of time.
What do we want to show our daughters, mothers?
That they are not full humans with the need not only for the socially-condoned connection, but also for independent time as well? That they do not deserve free time for recharging, for creative work, for learning, for healing, for soul expression? This is not the message I want to convey to my daughter.
The social conventions and messages women receive about what it is to be a mother—a good mother—are often twisted and controlling. We need to step out of that world and step into our own skin, our own bodies, our own experience and be responsible to ourselves, for ourselves. Gone are the days (for many women) of endless toil and childbearing and rearing without end—but we often keep ourselves internally bound and unfree. What’s needed now is just to acknowledge ourselves as an organism with needs, and stop trying to whack-a-mole them down so we fit into some constructed, commercialized model of who we should be.
In general.
This message is for me as much as for anyone else, but I know many of us struggle with this aspect of mothering in this age where there is often little community, little family involvement, little support.
So read, goddammit. Let the mess sit. Ask for help. Put down the laundry and pick up your soul. Sure, the work is never done, but at the end of the day, our kids are fed, rested, guided. As mothers, not as another task to pile on top of the others, but as a winnower—what are we showing our daughters about their worth if we’re not giving ourselves what we ourselves desire and need?
Happy reading.