Today I scrapped my third blog post attempt at writing about my kids and my family life and began chasing my hour alone.
Today I was interested in just one thing, being alone…for just a little while. It sounds so selfish, but it’s so necessary, so satisfying, and so fulfilling.
I didn’t want to start a new project, like cleaning out the hall closet.
I didn’t want to put a load of clothes in the washer.
I didn’t want to get a head start on dinner.
I didn’t want to scrub the soaking pot in the kitchen sink.
I didn’t want to go through my pile of mail.
I didn’t want to go grocery shopping.
I didn’t want to take a walk or exercise in any other way.
I didn’t want to crash on the sofa, binge-watching my current fave Netflix series.
I didn’t want to have a long phone chat with my best friend.
I didn’t want to take a nap.
And lastly…
I didn’t want to soul search for reasons that validated my worthiness as a great wife, mother, and grandmother. I just knew that I already was, filling up my days putting out all sorts of little fires, for everyone for a long time now. When the embers eventually settled, I was left with an intense, raw craving to have a truly radiant hour all to myself, to squander away whichever way I chose.
I wanted to disregard any of my loved ones’ needs completely.
I wanted to be completely free of being judged for a split second about mindlessly scrolling on social media or eating a bag of chips.
I wanted to start vacuuming and then immediately stop, remembering my hour off was too precious for such trivialities.
I wanted to aimlessly walk around the house checking out the dust and clutter and not lift a finger to do anything about it.
Most of all, I just wanted to hear my own voice out loud when I told myself how amazing this much-deserved break felt! And then muttering about all I needed to accomplish after my hour alone was up. But that was totally fine because now I felt refreshed, basking in the afterglow of a cathartic moment.
