When the House is Quiet and Your Heart Breaks
There’s no manual for what it feels like to go from being a full-time, always-there mama… to standing in an empty house, unsure what to do with yourself.
The first week my kids weren’t home, I cried every day. Not just a tear or two—I mean full-on, deep, aching sobs that didn’t seem to end. That silence was deafening. The absence was heavy. I had gone from being a helicopter mom—always present, always needed, always moving—to sitting in a quiet house wondering who I was without them.
The Transition I Didn’t Expect
When our custody arrangement shifted to week-on/week-off, I thought I’d be strong. I thought I’d use the time to catch up on sleep, business, errands. But nobody tells you how loud the quiet is. Or how identity-shaking it feels to not be needed in the same way. For years, I built my world around my children. They were the center of my calendar, my decisions, my routines. I didn’t just parent—I lived through them. And in many ways, that served a season. But when that season changed, I wasn’t ready for what it would reveal.
What the Silence Revealed
The stillness forced me to look at myself. Not as a mom, not as a wife, not as the one running the house—but as me. And the truth was, I hadn’t checked in with her in a long time. I realized I had lost pieces of myself to performance. To people-pleasing. To perfectionism. I had loved being their mom so fully, I had never created space to love myself separately. And without my usual to-do list of chauffeuring, meals, laundry, and late-night talks—I had to ask: “What do I like? What fills me? What makes me feel alive?”
Redefining Motherhood and Me
I didn’t find the answers overnight. It took prayer, therapy, journaling, and real self-reflection. I started asking hard questions. I read books that challenged me. I talked to God more honestly than I ever had.
And slowly, I started doing small things for me. Not because anyone needed it. Not because it looked good. But because it made me feel good. I started creating a life I didn’t need to escape from—one that felt fulfilling, whole, and not dependent on someone else being in the room.
How I Fell in Love with Alone Time
I used to fear being alone. Now I see it as sacred. Sacred time to read, rest, think, create, pray, and dream. Time that allows me to show up even better when my kids are home—without resentment, without exhaustion, without guilt. Alone time doesn’t mean lonely. It means aligned. And now that we’ve settled into a new rhythm—where I have them most of the time and they’re with their dad on weekends and summers—I no longer panic when the house gets quiet. I breathe. I smile. I write. I rest.
From Guilt to Growth: My Mom Evolution
I’m still their mother. I always will be. But I am also a woman, a visionary, a business owner, and a believer who deserves peace and joy too.
So to any mom reading this who feels like your whole identity is crumbling during this season of separation—know this: You are not breaking. You are becoming.
And it’s okay to miss them and enjoy your quiet. It’s okay to cry and to laugh again. It’s okay to not have all the answers but still decide you deserve happiness too.
Because the best gift you can give your kids isn’t just your presence—it’s your wholeness.
