Last year, I took a week off from work, and surprisingly, I found myself in the house all by myself—even if it was only for a short while. My wife, Sarah, had taken our two older kids out, leaving our one-year-old, Max, peacefully napping.
If you were to ask me what my ideal getaway looks like, I’d jokingly say, “Just me, the TV, and a big pizza.” Although it sounds humorous, there’s a hint of truth in it. As a parent to three kids under the age of 9, I often crave moments of solitude. I think about all I could accomplish without the little ones around—my home would be tidier, I’d manage to squeeze in some exercise, and I could finally enjoy movies other than the endless loop of animated features. I could read, socialize, and reclaim parts of my life that don’t revolve entirely around parenting.
Many parents share these sentiments—not out of a lack of love for their kids, because I adore mine wholeheartedly. The reality is that there’s no “off” button when it comes to being a parent. Breaks are rare, leading to a longing for those moments alone. Yet, this desire can feel like a double-edged sword. Once I finally do get some time to myself, I often wrestle with guilt, feeling unproductive and, at times, neglectful.
Take the instance when Max was napping and the older kids were away; I decided to indulge in a mindless action film on Netflix. It was the kind of movie I never get to enjoy because my wife dislikes the genre and the kids are too young for that content. However, as I watched, guilt washed over me. I felt as though I should be doing something more valuable, but I couldn’t pinpoint what that should be.
This sense of guilt is a recurring theme whenever I find myself alone. Though I yearn for solitude during work hours, when those moments arise, I often end up feeling anxious, as if I ought to be doing something for my family. Honestly, it feels like something significant is missing when the kids aren’t around.
This phenomenon is peculiar and quite frustrating, and I suspect it stems from the life-altering experience of becoming a parent. After nearly a decade of fatherhood, I’ve clung to just two hobbies: cycling (which I can feel slipping away) and writing. I write daily, but only in the early hours when the house is quiet, so I avoid the pangs of guilt that come from taking time for myself. For those without children, it may seem strange to feel so apprehensive about carving out personal time, yet that’s the essence of parenting—it can be all-consuming.
My children are my passion. They fill my thoughts, my worries, and my conversations, and most of my writing revolves around them. It may sound like an obsession, but it’s simply the reality of my life now. I once watched a documentary called The Other F Word, which featured former punk band members from the ‘90s reflecting on their journeys into fatherhood. There was a poignant quote from Flea of the Red Hot Chili Peppers: “The classic parenting attitude is, ‘I brought you into this world.’ But I think the opposite: My kids gave me life. They gave me a reason.” This resonates with me deeply.
Reflecting on my life before kids—those carefree movie marathons, long bike rides, and endless hours with friends—I realize I hadn’t truly experienced living. I didn’t comprehend purpose or the joy of struggle. Teaching my son to ride a bike is far more fulfilling than any solo ride I could take, and guiding my daughter in writing is more rewarding than completing the best essay.
This is why, when I find myself with free time, I often feel unproductive; parenting is inherently more significant. It’s the most challenging yet fulfilling role I’ve ever undertaken. Even during moments of frustration, when I fantasize about abandoning my responsibilities, I remind myself of the invaluable lessons I’ve imparted to my children and the joy it brings.
As it turns out, just as I was getting comfortable with my film, Max woke up. It was fine—I wasn’t really paying attention anyway. I switched off the TV and headed to his room, where he reached out from his crib, his tousled hair a testament to his nap. He was crying, so I quickly found his favorite toy.
“Did you miss me?” I asked, and he calmed down, reaching up to touch my face. “I missed you too,” I replied, feeling that familiar warmth of connection.
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In summary, while parents often yearn for alone time, the reality is that it can bring about feelings of guilt and restlessness. The all-consuming nature of parenting means that even moments of solitude can feel like a departure from our primary role. Nonetheless, the joy and fulfillment derived from parenting ultimately outweigh those fleeting desires for personal time.