When people asked me what I was doing for the holidays, I responded almost too giddily, “I’m spending it alone.” Their eyes narrowed, “What?”
I told them I was sending my husband and the kids to his family in Massachusetts, and I’d stay back in Pennsylvania. All. By. Myself. I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone or for anything. Not requests for snacks or one more backrub. I wouldn’t have to sit rigid, wondering if one of my three kids was creeping out of a bed that wasn’t theirs. Or defend my parenting style while my oldest yelled about how life wasn’t fair and we must all really hate him, and why should he have to listen to anyone anyway.
After a beat, every single mom (and a few dads) told me: “I’m jealous. I want to do that. How did you swing that?”
I had hit a breaking point
The decision to be alone during the holidays came slowly at first and then all at once. I’d hit a breaking point that most parents, especially moms, are all too familiar with. But the moment I toyed with the idea of staying back — in a quiet, clean, empty house — that was it. It was all I could think about.
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I broached the topic, gently, with my husband, who couldn’t have been more supportive and emphatic. “You should take a few days away!” But I didn’t want to be away. I wanted to be home alone. That was the key.
As the days ticked closer to The Big Departure, people asked me when Jeff and the kids were leaving. “Wednesday, but I can’t ask when, specifically,” I’d laugh.
I explained to the kids that I needed some alone time; I needed to take a break. They, who are 8, 5, and 3, were relatively unfazed. My middle, big-feeling daughter made me promise to call her every two minutes. I wanted them to know that it was OK for Mom (or Dad) to step away and be alone. It didn’t mean I loved them any less. Something, something about distance making the heart grow fonder.
Self-care is crucial
Mental health experts agree. Solitude can be a crucial form of self-care (unless it makes you truly uncomfortable to be totally alone). “When you seek out intentional solitude, and the demands on your attention and focus melt away, it allows you to have a level of awareness that can support healing and growth,” Emily Moriarty, M.Ed., a licensed professional counselor and director of clinical services at Reset Outdoors, told Business Insider.
Finally, they were off. And I didn’t know what to do with myself. Everything was weirdly quiet. Clean. Empty. I loved it. I had a couple of low-key plans over the next few days, but my goal was to savor the silence and the lack of a schedule.
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When 5 p.m. rolled around on the first night, I started making dinner while listening to music. I danced a little. I ate while reading a book. No one argued with me that they didn’t like what was served. Cleanup was easy. I put my dishes away. I didn’t need to sweep — I don’t spill things on the floor.
I turned my phone off; I didn’t need an alarm. No one needed to reach me, and if they did, they could wait. Dad was more than capable. I slept in. I drank coffee on the couch in front of the fire in my pajamas. I forced myself to allow things to move slowly — something I have a hard time doing with or without kids.
“Solitude doesn’t include sitting alone in an office working,” Moriarty said. “It has to be non-work, non-caregiving time.”
When it was time for the Big Holiday Meal, I thought I’d feel a little lonely. But I didn’t, and that, I realized, was because this was my choice. I knew my family was enjoying themselves with relatives they don’t often see and having a little vacation. And I knew that they’d all be home before I knew it.
I had a little mom guilt
By the end of the fourth day, the air was thick with anticipation of the kids and Jeff coming home. I felt like I couldn’t watch TV fast enough. I couldn’t sit in a quiet, empty house fast enough. I couldn’t drink enough coffee fast enough. But when I started making dinner at 5 p.m., awaiting their 8 p.m. arrival, I realized if I had to keep doing this, I might get a little… bored?
I’m sure that has more to do with the stark contrast of raising three kids, co-running a household, and having a (fairly successful) career, and four days of abrupt, near-total solitude. If I didn’t have kids at all, I’m sure I wouldn’t be bored at 7 p.m.
People have since asked me if this will be my new holiday tradition. I did like it, maybe a bit too much, but it feels wrong to indefinitely celebrate the holidays without my kith and kin. Four days weren’t enough to assuage Mom Guilt, apparently.
