I woke up far too early today, feeling that familiar tightness in my chest. The stillness of the morning was deceptive; something felt off. My mind buzzed, refusing to let me drift back to sleep, even though I could.
Theoretically, I could rest again since my 8-year-old son wasn’t going to sneak into my room and take my covers after 6 a.m. His older sister wasn’t going to plead with me to lift my ban on early morning screen time. While I typically find these early morning antics a bit annoying—especially before I’ve had my caffeine fix—today, I was acutely aware of how much I missed their presence, which was particularly acute since they had spent the last few nights at their dad’s house.
I miss my kids. Yet, paradoxically, I feel a sense of happiness about that.
When my partner and I decided to part ways, we had already agreed, long before having children, that we would share childcare responsibilities equally if the time ever came. In the better days, during the exhausting phase of raising a toddler and an infant, we often joked about a hypothetical clause: “If one of us leaves, that person takes the kids.”
Once the separation became a reality, we both wanted our share of parenting time but also valued our breaks from it. We craved those cozy mornings and family dinners but equally appreciated the chance to sleep in, enjoy a quiet dinner of cheese and crackers in front of the TV, and have time to ourselves. Dividing the kids’ time seemed fair and reasonable.
Deep down, I harbored concerns—not about missing my children, but rather about resenting their return. I feared becoming too fond of my alone time, too comfortable without the chaos, and that the stress that led to our breakup would leave me unfit for parenting. I worried I would be seen as a selfish mother, lacking the love needed to want my kids around consistently.
In hindsight, I realize I was too hard on myself. The period of separation—even an amicable one—is hardly the best time to gauge long-term feelings. The months surrounding our split were among the most stressful in my life. My ex and I were attempting to co-parent while navigating the emotional turmoil of our new reality. As we began the moving-out process, our home turned uncomfortable, a space filled with tension. Staying at friends’ houses sometimes felt like a much-needed escape, even though it too came with its own challenges. A friend once told me, “You may have many safe places to stay, but right now, you don’t have a safe place to live.”
During that tumultuous time, the kids were as demanding as ever (which is to say, quite demanding). Given my stretched emotional resources, it’s understandable that parenting felt overwhelming. My time alone became a rare and precious commodity, even though I often felt disconnected from my family. The chaos of packing and moving made personal time at home nearly nonexistent. I had been prescribed anti-anxiety medication, which I used sparingly, primarily on the days I moved back “home.”
Fortunately, that transitional phase is behind us now. My ex found a new place, and we divided our belongings. On the day his moving truck departed with half of what we owned, I felt a mix of relief and anxiety. The kids began alternating between their “new” home and our old one. In their absence, I immersed myself in organizing, decorating, and creating a comfortable space. When they returned, I felt happier and more patient, better equipped to engage with them rather than simply react.
When they leave, I miss them—not in an overwhelming way, but with a subtle ache during school drop-offs or when I put away toys that won’t be used for a few days. A comic book rests in the bathroom next to the toilet, and each time I see it, I smile, knowing they will come back to read it. I still find it strange not knowing their dinner plans or weekend activities when they’re away. By day four or five without them, I start to feel a bit restless and uneasy.
So, when I first noticed those twinges of longing, I felt oddly relieved. I realized I wasn’t a failed mother focused solely on my needs; I’m a woman emerging from a challenging year, a mother who loves her children deeply and is committed to fostering a secure half-time home for them. I miss them when they’re not here, but the good news is they always return.
When the kids are with their dad, I stay busy. Sometimes, my solo dinners consist of cheese and crackers with a glass of wine while watching TV. I work, socialize, exercise, and even contemplate dating. I enjoy my independence, and even amidst that enjoyment, I miss my kids. And I find happiness in that.
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In summary, navigating life as a separated parent has its challenges, but it also offers moments of reflection and personal growth. I cherish the time I have with my kids and the time I have for myself, allowing me to appreciate both facets of my life.