I can hardly wait to get away from my wife and kids

But not forever.

I just spent a glorious five days BY MYSELF at the beach. No kids arguing about screen time, no dogs interrupting my writing and begging to play fetch, no cats meowing piteously to be let out. And in. And out. And… 

It was pure freedom.

I woke up each morning and ate whatever sounded good (some days a fruit smoothie with yogurt and peanut butter. Other mornings, leftover pasta and garlic bread. YUM.) I walked on the beach as long as I wanted without worrying about my family getting bored. I made giant bowls of popcorn and re-watched all eight episodes of season 1 of Deadloch even though Kate and I just finished it, because it’s that good.

I took a gazillion photos of stormy skies and ocean waves.

And a seagull about to chow down on a crab bigger than its head.

You might be wondering, “How in the world does this married woman go off by herself like that? What about her kids? What about the pets? What about HER WIFE?

Here’s how: Kate is smart.

When we first started dating and I realized to my consternation that I was falling in love with someone who had <shudder> a kid, and who was determined to have <oh hell no> another baby, I was sure my life would be over if I became a parent. I’m a big introvert. If I don’t have time to myself I become surly and grim and everything is BAD.

Kate gets it. She loves me. She wants me to be happy.

But also, let’s get real—she’s done the cost/benefit analysis: If she insists she can’t function without me and demands that I never go away by myself, I’ll bravely soldier on but over time become very quiet and sad and weepy and snappish while declaring I’M FINE JUST FINE REALLY I’M FINE excuse me while I eat another bowl of mint chip ice cream and sob into my pillow.

Or, she can send me off for a few days, and I’ll come home energized, bouncy, and ready to take on the world! (Or at least, a few extra carpool shifts.)

It’s kind of a no-brainer.

I’ve always craved time by myself. Growing up as the youngest of nine kids in a chaotic, dysfunctional, alcoholic household, it was impossible to know who I was or what I needed. Because according to my confused and traumatized little-kid brain, other people needed things! I had to help them! Or my family would fall apart! 

What I wanted or needed? Irrelevant.

The plus side of an upbringing like that is I’m hyper responsible, reliable, and eager to please. I’m a great and loyal friend with a lifetime of training in listening to other people’s problems and doing what I can to help.

The downside: I’m still figuring out who I am and what I want. And when I’m around other people, especially my kids who I’m legitimately responsible for—it can be nearly impossible to hear my inner voice.

Getting away by myself is an antidote.

When I’m by myself, I can breathe. I can let go of taking care of anyone or anything else, and turn my attention inward. 

Time by myself is rich loamy soil, fertile with possibility.

So yes, I can hardly wait to get away! 

And I’m always so grateful to come back home.