As a mother, finding moments of solitude has become increasingly difficult during the COVID-19 pandemic. As the sole introvert in a family of extroverts, I find myself grappling with the constant need for connection while yearning for quiet.
Not long ago, I attempted to carve out ten minutes for a guided meditation in my bedroom. Just as I settled onto my cushion, my curious nine-year-old barged in and plopped down on my bed. “Mom, can you read to me instead?” she asked, oblivious to my intentions. “I’ll just watch you meditate.”
“But there’s nothing to see!” I replied, adjusting my AirPods. “You’d just be staring at me sitting quietly with my eyes closed.” Her cheerful response? “That’s fine! I can just read.” Cue the internal chaos.
This scenario encapsulates life eight months into the pandemic, where daily new cases in the U.S. continue to rise, showing no signs of easing. My daughter, once set to return to in-person schooling, now faces delays, pushing her start date into January. While I understand the safety measures in place, it’s hard not to feel overwhelmed, especially as an introverted (and perimenopausal, yikes) mother of two.
In my previous life as a cultural critic, I thrived on late-night solitude, crafting responses to performances and shows while the world slept. Those quiet hours became a sanctuary, especially when my daughters were younger and their demands consumed me. Now, with all four of us confined together, the promise of late-night peace has become utterly irresistible.
These nighttime hours allow me to write, read, and catch up on shows like The Good Place or Schitt’s Creek, which my family doesn’t share my enthusiasm for. Before the pandemic, I enjoyed a balance of alone time and family life, but that equilibrium has vanished. My partner works long shifts at his law firm, and I juggle household duties while also supporting my children’s remote learning.
Each day feels like a race against time. I’m lucky if I can find twenty uninterrupted minutes to focus on anything before another interruption arises. So, I’ve returned to my old friend—the night—multiple times a week.
Of course, my late-night habits come at a price. My husband, who rises early for work, often expresses his longing for my company when he heads to bed alone. My daughter wonders why I’m not outside playing when her virtual school ends. Yet, these small rifts in our family dynamic are the only threads connecting me to my sense of self.
Strangely enough, while those quiet hours can feel ghostly, they remind me that I am still here. In a world that feels increasingly chaotic, I need to claim a few hours for myself to hold on to my identity.
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Summary
This article reflects on the challenges an introverted mother faces during the pandemic, detailing the struggle to find personal time amidst a bustling household. With disrupted routines and the need for connection, the author finds solace in late-night hours, which serve as a rare opportunity for self-reflection and creativity.