On Motherhood, Solitude, Anonymity, and The Ocean

I’m a creature of solitude. I’ve been so since I was a child, when I would happily shut myself in my room for hours, reading and writing to my heart’s content. Before I had children, when I was in my very young twenties, I traveled the country a lot, often times alone. I once drove myself from my home in NY to California and back, happily solo.  

Whenever I lack that alone time that I crave it starts to make me feel a little crazy. I feel disconnected from myself, which in turn makes me feel disconnected from everyone around me, and from the Universe at large.

As a mother, it’s difficult to keep your solitariness. As a single mom, it’s near impossible. You are more or less surrounded by others at all times. Now, if I had to be surrounded by anyone 24-7, my kids would definitely be choice pick. Still in all, it’s unhealthy to never be alone. Moreover, it’s exceptionally difficult for someone whose natural way about them is the loner way, like myself.

I’ve often reflected on the possibility that my need for solitude had a small hand in shaping my life as a single mom to begin with. I certainly didn’t do it intentionally, yet who knows what’s really going on in the bigger picture, in the grand scheme, in the soulfulness of the meant-to-be. Before  having children, I mainly lived alone. I never cohabited with a male prior to or since my daughter’s dad. Being single is as much a part of who I am as being a mother is. Ergo, single mom.

I am deeply connected to all three of my children individually. It’s hard to be away from them. It was impossible for me to do when they were infants, truth be told I downright refused to, and it’s still emotionally difficult with my teenagers. I worry. I miss them. I like the feeling of having all three of them tucked neatly under my wings like a mother hen. I like being constantly aware of their presence, their mood, their health and well being. Unfortunately, though, when you live that way day after day and year after year, it can sometimes be more to your detriment as a parent than a blessing to your kids. There are times when I can feel my soul cry and yearn for the moments pre-motherhood when I could just be alone. When I had no one to answer to, no one who needed me. When I could get in my car and drive for hours til I landed in another state, or when I could simply take myself out to dinner with no more company then a pad and pen.

When you become a mother, solitude is no longer a thing. It just isn’t. It’s an exchange in dynamics that is worth it’s weight in gold, yet like any compromise of life, it has it’s toll to pay. Sometimes the debt is easy. Sometimes it stings like a bitch.

Not only is your solitariness out the door, but I think even more painful than that, your anonymity is gone as well. I’ve usually been able to secure childcare when I’ve needed to, when I’ve had job interviews, or work, or adult functions. Yet I have never been able to secure childcare without being asked where I’m going, what I’m doing, and who I’m doing it with. As a grown woman, that sucks. SUCKS. That young girl inside of me who would jump on her bicycle and disappear for hours to explore the world and herself is inside me screaming, I’m Still Here!

I’m not complaining. If I had to do it all over again I wouldn’t change a thing. My children offer me more heart and soul and contentment than I ever would have had in their absence. I’m simply  stating facts. And the facts are, it is difficult to lose yourself. It hurts to never be alone. It’s unhealthy for you, and when you’re unhealthy, that’s no good for your kids, either.

The weight of the entire situation came to be a force I felt I was being made to reckon with. I spend so much of my time being a mom, and a single mom, which means working pretty much nonstop all the time. Surrounded by people. Constantly. Home, kids. Work, people. The cycle would wear on anyone, but it’s particularly hard on the loner. It’s particularly hard on someone like me.

For reasons I won’t delve into here, this year has been one of the hardest of my life. I suffered a personal tragedy, and loss. I have been in an inner state of grieving and mourning for the past three months strait. I hide it a lot. I don’t want my children to see me sad. I don’t want anyone to think of me in any other way than the strong, single mom they assume I am. So my pain resides deep within me, threatening to implode. It builds. It takes over. I become angry, bitchy, distant, and distracted. Pain has a way of forcing you to deal with it. And we all do so differently. As for me, I know that all I really need is some quiet alone time. Time to heal. I just feel guilty as hell asking for it. So I don’t.

This past weekend, I stole myself from my life. I had been invited to a lake up north with a group of people I mingle with, a few of whom are friends of mine. I called my dad, my go-to guy, to see if he could help with the kids so I could get a weekend away. He agreed to. However, as the date grew closer I started rethinking my plan. Was I really going to take time off work, and from my kids, to go to a lake with a group of people whom I see all the time? Really? Why? Because it’s so much easier to ask for a hand if I have “plans”, “friends”, a “destination”. The night before the trip I decided to do something I haven’t done since the day I became pregnant with my first child sixteen years ago. I was going to run away. Just me. No one else. Everyone has a place that they love the most of all. My place is the ocean. I hadn’t seen it all year, since last Summer. More importantly, I hadn’t visited it alone in almost twenty years.

I hoped as I was getting ready to leave on Friday that my dad wouldn’t want me to reiterate to him my plan. But as I mentioned earlier, momhood equals no anonymity, and of course he asked me once again. “So you’re going to the lake with friends?” I did something in that moment that I never do, let alone to my dad, who’s one of the very most important people in my life. I Lied. “Yup,” I stated nonchalantly.

But I didn’t go to the lake. I didn’t go with friends. I got in my car, started driving towards the ocean, and didn’t look back. I drove for hours alone thru torrential rains and thunderstorms and even mini floods. I drove semi blindly, not really knowing where I’d end up. I didn’t want to go to the spot I used to vacation to as a child, the same one I took my own kids to a few times. I wanted my own place. A new place. A place where my soul could start to find herself again. The only map I followed was the one written in my heart. I drove and drove, reflecting. Reflecting on myself, my life, my kids, and my journey as a mom. I rehashed the past year, the person I had lost, the part of me I had lost with it. I sobbed. I laughed wildly. I sung at the top of my lungs. I reconnected with ME.

As often happens when you let go and trust your gut and the Universe completely, I ended up in the perfect place, the place I was meant to be in that moment, and had never been to before. It was pitch black by the time I got there, and the rain was still pouring in. So I found a little motel room. I wrote for a bit. I took a hot bath. I slept. And I awoke the next day ready to see and embrace the ocean.

What is it about the ocean? I cry as I write this. Such a sap. But really, the immensity of it, the way that it begins yet never ends, the way that it somehow seems to wash away every physical and soulful ailment you’re suffering all at once. The way it cradles you, comforts you, and accepts you fully. I needed it more than I can express. I needed the moments there. The little break in time for me. The freedom I gave up when I began my journey into motherhood. The connection with the person that I am deep within. I stole that day from my life. It was the best thing I’ve done for myself in forever. No regrets. Bliss. Calm. Clarity.

I stayed a while, as long as I felt my soul needed to. I meditated to the sound of the waves. I played in the water. I thought of everything, and nothing. I began to heal.

When I was ready, I began the journey home. It was different than the ride there. The sky was no longer crying, and neither was I. I felt whole and happy. I was so ready to see my kids. All it took was two short days of Anonymous Solitude to turn my previously messy inner self back into the normally happy self that I am.

I know my dad will forgive me the little white lie when I tell him of my journey. I know he’ll understand that I was following my heart, and that in that moment I couldn’t let anyone else follow me at all. I’m a good mom. I’ve been a good mom every day for the past sixteen years, and twice over. I’ve been a good employee, daughter, and friend. But this past weekend, all I was was ME. I’m better for it, immensely so. And you know who else will be better for it, too?

My children.