Being ‘Selfish’ Makes Me a Better Mom

I nodded, all sage and subdued smiles, acting as though I’d understood this exhortation, but inwardly I was saying to myself, “Let’s take it easy here—it’s not like this woman is taking off for a solo summit of Everest! She’s taking off—destination: Motherhood! She’s going to have an adorable, squishy baby! She wants this, she’s excited! We’re all excited for her! This is going to be the best thing ever!”

A few years later I, too, became a mom. My daughter was rosy and healthy and happy, and I loved her instantaneously and intensely. A few years after that, I became a mother again to a second healthy, beautiful baby girl. I loved being a mom. I adored my girls. I also experienced a fatigue the likes of which I had not known possible—fatigue that felt simultaneously physical, mental, and emotional, all at the same time. Anxiety was suddenly a constant companion. Anxiety that kept me awake between the midnight and 3 a.m. feedings, which just felt cruel and pointless, given how badly I needed that precious sleep. I forgot words midsentence (a problem for a woman whose job is largely to finish sentences). I found that an afternoon could stretch to the length of an eternity. I realized that things that were challenging could also be really boring.

I realized that some of the women in my life really, really love the day-to-day work of being a mom. It’s not bogus, and it’s not for Instagram or for bragging rights at Mommy and Me Playgroup. Some women truly love babies, love nothing more than snuggling and smelling their newborns for hours on end on the couch without feeling the need to leave the house. Some women love toddlers and have an endless tolerance for impromptu sing-alongs and circular rounds of car-ride questions that have no satisfying answers or resolution. Some women in my life have told me that they love snow days because it means arts and crafts at home and pancakes made in the shape of snowmen. (Some men, like my husband, are like that too.)

I am not one of those women. Even though I am a mother, and I love that job, there are still many other aspects of my life that I love, and many aspects of myself that I am simply not willing to give up. I love being a writer who gets to spend hours in deep creative thought or expansive, enriching research, who gets to work with interesting people and speak with curious readers. And the truth is that I am a better writer and wife and friend when I have had time away from my kids, to clear my head and take a walk in the woods or sit in silence and just hear myself think over a cup of actually still-warm coffee.

Let me be clear: I adore my babies. I consider it the greatest gift in my life that I get to be their mother. My love for them is awesome and it is animal and it is a force that I had not understood or even believed possible before becoming their mother.

But the fact that I’ve come to realize—and am finally allowing myself to admit—is that even though I love my children and I love being their mom, I also really need time off from that role. I need time to be selfish. To hide behind a counter so I can enjoy every minute of the me time I’ve paid for.