Is Break even the Right Word?
Because as soon as I say break, I feel the guilt rise, my heart drop, and a twinge of sadness creep in—for even wanting to be away from my baby. How could I possibly want time apart from the person I created? The one I longed for, dreamed of, and, at times, suffered to bring into this world.
How can I want to step away when she looks at me and smiles, or laughs, or yells out Mama?
I find myself feeling jealous of my husband.
He gets to wake up and shower—alone.
Get ready for work—alone.
Make breakfast—alone—without a toddler pulling at his pant leg or needing to balance a baby on his hip to stir eggs with one hand.
He drives an hour to work and an hour back—alone.
I remember those days—headed into the city, music on, or maybe a true crime podcast in the background. Alone in the car. Some days I hated the commute. But most days? I appreciated it. It was time to decompress—especially on the way home. I could get out my daily frustrations with music blasting or by diving into the twisted world of Ted Bundy.
These days, my commute is from my daughter’s room to the living room and kitchen.
It’s listening to Wheels on the Bus 1,000 times (in a row), while she asks me to switch to a different version 15 seconds in. It’s teaching her that crayons are for coloring books—not the floor.
It’s eating the rest of the mac & cheese she didn’t finish (or gave to the dogs). I still get some of my music, but only if her mood allows it. Will she want Post Malone today? (Honestly, most likely—she’s loved him since she was tiny.) Or will it be Bounce Patrol singing about the alphabet and animals? No true crime podcasts or TV unless it’s during nap time—and we’re down to one nap a day.
After the third or fourth meltdown—over something small, like not opening a cheese stick fast enough, or because I had the audacity to sit on the toilet without her in my lap—I feel myself needing a moment to myself. But those moments are rare. Even showers aren’t guaranteed “me” time. We don’t have a tub, so most nights I end up showering with her. Sink tubbie time? Exhausting. (She’d stay in there for hours if I let her.)
Lately, my husband has had to travel for work. I’m happy for him—these are great opportunities.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t daydream about being the one to go. A solo trip, even for a day. A hotel room. Takeout. Trashy TV. Maybe a sleeping pill and eight uninterrupted hours of sleep—something I haven’t had since pregnancy. (At no fault to my husband). But then comes the guilt.
How could I spend 24 hours away from my entire world? I’ve never even spent a night without her—not since the day she was born. But still…I need a break. Or… do I?
Is break even the right word?
Some space? Yes.
To not be needed for a little while? Absolutely.
To not have to think? Even better.
But Break feels harsh.
Merriam-Webster says a break is “to separate into parts with suddenness or violence.”
Yikes. Not exactly what I meant.
I haven’t touched a thesaurus in years, but I looked. I found “pause,” which already feels better.
Even “hesitate” pops up—and funny enough, that word fits too. Because every time I think about taking a break… I hesitate.
I probably haven’t looked at a Thesaurus in years. Can you think of the last time you did? I appreciate how it gives a list of the ways you may use the word break. I felt like a pause, was already a better word than break. I also find it funny that the word hesitate comes up. Because every time I think about a “break”, I also find myself hesitating.
Still, none of the words seem to really fit.
Because let’s be real: as moms, we’re usually the default parent. We carry the mental load.
And if your household is anything like mine, sometimes the only “break” in your day is a solo shower—if you’re lucky. So when those rare, extended moments of silence come? They feel like a breath of fresh air. Maybe breath is the word I’m looking for.
Yesterday, I texted my husband and said that when he got home, I needed time alone.
I wasn’t in the right headspace—after a full week of solo parenting—to show up for him and our daughter. I told him I needed a little trip to the store. Alone.
He immediately responded: “When you get back, you can shower alone too.”
It wasn’t a spa day. It was still a chore. But just knowing I could wander the aisles aimlessly? That I wouldn’t have a toddler screaming from the cart or trying to bolt toward the bananas? That I could just exist, by myself, for a bit. That was everything.
What I really need is just a moment of peace. To clear out the clutter in my brain. To exist outside of motherhood, even if just for an hour or two. Because at the end of the day, I’m more than just a mom. I’m more than just a wife. We all are. We are our own, individual people. Maybe unwind is the right word. Or reset.
Break feels too negative. I don’t want to escape my family. I don’t want to be away from my daughter. Break just doesn’t fit the emotions I actually feel. I don’t want to escape my family. I don’t want to be away from my daughter.
I just need a rest.
A pause.
An exhale.
So I can ground myself—and come back better.
A better mom. A better wife. A better me.