In Celebration of Solitude

I dreaded the first time I sent my kids to their dad’s house for our new 50/50 custody arrangement. Loneliness loomed large as the post-divorce reality crept closer. Of all the heartache that comes with divorce, sharing your kids stings the most.

What will I do? Who will I talk to? How will I possibly fill my days without children underfoot? How will I bear the solitude?

I navigated that first week like a tentative sailor on a maiden voyage on the open sea. I leaned on the learning and growing that had brought me to this place. I busied myself with the work of keeping things afloat. I was clumsy and marginally capable.

I held my breath the whole week waiting for the wave of sadness, loneliness, or despair to overwhelm me. As the week came to a close and my children returned to me once again, I breathed a sigh of relief for the drowning that never came.

Each week, as I prepared for my week of solitude, I braced myself. “Surely, this will be the week when it hits me…when solitude arrives with a chaser of overwhelming sadness.” I thought to myself.

Week after week, solitude became my quiet companion not my enemy. I had nobody’s needs to meet but my own. What’s for dinner? Whatever I want. Cleaned the kitchen? Still clean the next morning. Want to go for a walk? Yes, don’t mind if I do. Stay up late? Take a nap? Listen to my own music? Watch a movie? Yes, please. All of the above.

I’m sure my children will read this one day and use it as some kind of proof that I don’t really love them. (They are collecting evidence of this theory, such as the lack of ice cream in our freezer, or the fact that I refuse to bring a new puppy into the house.) But really, the solitude helped me love them in the best way possible.

Solitude gave me space finally exhale and move through the resentment and anger that were festering in the quiet corners of my heart. It allowed me to rest so I was more fully present for my kids when they were around. It helped me remember I am more than just a mom, I am also human. It gave me more patience for the noise and chaos, knowing that solitude was waiting for me at the end of the week. It helped me understand what I need to thrive, and the peril that I bring upon myself if those needs are constantly ignored.

As the kids have grown and our custody situation has shifted, my opportunities for solitude have vacillated between prolific and practically non-existent. Currently, I find myself in a season when solitude is no longer a regularly scheduled oasis, but something I must intentionally carve out for myself. I no longer fear solitude, I cultivate it.

I mistook solitude for the rock that would sink me. In fact, it is the buoy that sustains me.