Every Mother Works & Every Mother Deserves Downtime
Society tells mothers we should soak up as much time with our kids as possible, at all costs, lest we miss out on making memories or forging bonds. But here’s how to find pockets of time for yourself—and why you truly need them.
Source: Ksenia Chernaya
Last Mother’s Day, I did something radical: I spent it without my daughter. Admittedly, I had failed to double check the calendar when I booked my flights for a solo trip to New York.
Fellow mom friends assured me that I needed this time away, but still, I felt guilty. Not only because my daughter expressed her disappointment that I’d be gone on Mother’s Day, but because I was actually looking forward to it. I fantasized about having a whole day to dedicate to answering, “what do I feel like doing?” Instead of tending to mile-long to-do lists of house chores and the daily needs of a 6-year-old (so. many. snacks), I could go to a museum! Take myself to brunch! Linger over hot coffee and read a magazine cover to cover!
We can all agree that parenting is hard. And the source of that challenge, stems in large part, from our children. Logic would have it that removing oneself from the source—your kids—would be a way to step away from ‘hard’ in order to move closer toward ‘ease’ (easy is a stretch). Yet, motherhood myths tell us that “the days are long, but the years are short,” or that we “better enjoy the snuggles and the giggles before they’re hormonal teenagers who want nothing to do with us.”
These messages imply that we should soak up all the time with our kids as possible, at all costs, lest we miss out on making memories or forging bonds. The motherhood-as-martyrdom cultural directive makes moms afraid of being regarded as selfish for needing time away from our kids, and worse, guilty for admitting that we want time away from them. And lately, it's even harder to step away when the news cycle makes us feel like we should hold our kids closer than ever.
The motherhood-as-martyrdom cultural directive makes moms afraid of being regarded as selfish for needing time away from our kids, and worse, guilty for admitting that we want time away from them.
But if I, like many moms, am consistently finding myself in a place of dis-ease, I become a version of myself I don’t like. I’m short on patience, long on yelling. I’m quick to snap, slow to find my breath. I’m hot, practically vibrating with the resentment boiling in my blood. To get back to a place of ease, my remedy is to remove my kid from the equation. But it doesn’t have to be something dramatic like taking a five-day solo trip to New York (although 10/10 would do it again). I’ve learned there are ways to spend time away from my child during more everyday scenarios, even if it’s something that she could be doing with me.
Once I banished the ensuing shoulds and did the thing alone, it became easier to spot other moments in the day when I could slip away. Instead of making me feel selfish, these small spurts of alone-time added up to creating a more consistent sense of ease. Ultimately, it made me a more present and patient parent, making the moments I held my daughter close even more sweet.
Let’s invite ease by normalizing spending time away from our kids. After all, every mother works and every mother deserves downtime—whether that means paying for childcare, trading off with your partner, or swapping babysitting duties with a friend. Here are three recent kid-free scenarios that helped me recalibrate and return to myself and a place of ease.
Source: Gülşah Aydoğan
3 Low-Lift Ideas for Squeezing In—and Relishing—Alone Time
1. I Did the Target Run Alone
Running errands alone is no substitute for true downtime, but having some time alone while you pick up home essentials will do in a pinch. After all, it often feels like I shouldn’t waste any kid-free time on running errands because I should be doing something productive (writing articles on deadline, exercising, cleaning). I could have my daughter ride along in the car with me, but I start to regret this about 5 minutes into the 20-minute car ride, when I’ve told her to stop whining, implored her to stop flipping her stuffed bunny in the air, and refused multiple requests to placate her with Pinkalicious episodes.
After the last time this happened, I vowed I’d go alone. I got my mom to watch my daughter; even as she protested, saying she wanted to come with, I firmly told her I wanted to run errands alone. I got in the car, picked up an iced matcha and listened to Glennon Doyle’s podcast We Can Do Hard Things (I highly recommend the Samantha Irby episode). Just having 40 minutes alone in the car to tune-out the world and tune into my breath was just what I needed to bring me ease.
2. I Baked Something Just for Me
So much of the performance of motherhood is around how we feed our families. This extends to preparing food—at every turn, magazines and ads invite us to bring kids into the kitchen, marking recipes and meal kits suited to little helpers. It’s no wonder we’ve forgotten what we’re even hungry for in the first place (metaphorically and literally speaking). Recently, I had a craving for a homemade baked treat, something that would give me some alone time in the kitchen and scratch the itch of baking without being too involved. I settled on banana bread, but as I was leveling cups of flour, my daughter wandered into the kitchen and asked if she could help. I felt like I should say yes. I do sometimes enjoy having her help me.
It’s no wonder we’ve forgotten what we’re even hungry for in the first place (metaphorically and literally speaking).
But that moment called for me to stand rooted to the kitchen mat and for my hands to be immersed in the work (and the fun) of measuring flour, mashing bananas, and whisking eggs and milk. Once the loaf cooled, I cut fat slices for my daughter and me (I even kept the piece with the most chocolate chips). But instead of eating with her at the table, I ate mine outside on the porch, enjoying the birds chirping instead of annoying cartoon voices or endless toddler chatter. I ate slowly, sitting down, and I licked up every crumb. I felt satiated and utterly at ease.
3. I Prioritized My Own Joy
Several months ago, I bought myself a flower bouquet LEGO set. I hid it in my closet, waiting until I had the quiet time to work on it alone. How silly, I thought, to buy myself a toy. I should build it with my daughter. But having worked on LEGOS with my daughter before, I remembered how un-fun it can be when my daughter insists on clicking each piece in (without doing the work most of the time!).
But one afternoon when she was in summer camp, I found myself with a miraculous free hour. Instead of rushing to throw in a load of clothes or unload the dishwasher, I beelined for my office and retrieved the box. Just opening the lid felt like a delicious escape. The fact that I was building a bouquet of flowers to gift myself wasn’t lost on me either. Each rose stem, snapdragon stalk, daisy bunch or lavender sprig I built, I slipped into a vintage vase. The full bouquet sits on a shelf in next to my office light switch, so every time I come and go, I have a joyful reminder that sparks ease.
Read More:
I’m a Better Mom When I’m Working—Here’s How I Found Acceptance
Layla Khoury-Hanold is a freelance journalist who has written for Food Network, Refinery 29, Saveur, and the Chicago Tribune, among others. She is working on her debut food memoir.
This article was originally published in 2022. It has been updated for timeliness.
