Spending a weekend in a hotel is, for me and my mother friends, one of the most recurring fantasies. It is curious how, unlike 20 years ago, our aspirations are far from giving free rein to torrid and carnal desires; now we long simply to sleep. There is nothing more tempting or more coveted than uninterrupted sleep, which stands as the object of supreme desire. We fantasize about giant pillows filled with goose feathers and white Egyptian cotton sheets, spotless and with a penetrating clean smell. We recreate ourselves by imagining ourselves immersed in a solemn silence, enveloped in absolute darkness and loneliness. And we sigh thinking about the possibility of recovering hours of sleep, about the pleasure it would mean to be able to sleep as many hours as when we were teenagers. A gap that, in the context of motherhood, becomes a luxury and a boldness.
After months, for some parents even years, of inability to enjoy uninterrupted sleep, it seems that we are condemned to torture comparable to that of Guantánamo. In my case I am forced to wake up too early, suffering from not being able to sleep as much as I like. To compensate, I always try to go to bed earlier, but I constantly boycott myself by scratching midnight between readings or movies that I also feed on. In any case, whether due to a lack of sleep or intermittent rest, prolonged sleep deprivation becomes one of the main enemies of mental health.
It is in this context that, a few months ago, I agreed to travel from New York to Chicago for work, with the main motivation of being able to sleep. I was willing to fly for two and a half hours just to spend a day and a night outside, where the possibility of enjoying a restful sleep became a wish that could finally materialize. I had long debated whether to go or not, aware of the risks involved in leaving the routine and exposing oneself to life. Mothers are afraid, we feel guilty, we feel responsible 24 hours a day, every day of our lives. We create narratives that reinforce this self-limitation, so submissive and terrified of rebelling against what has been normalized. And yet, work made it legal to leave. Paradoxically, it was the argument that allowed me to give myself a break.
It was the first night in years that I spent separated from my daughters. I could have organized a night out; discover cocktail bars, finally see a movie at the cinema, go to a concert or the theater. But there was nothing more excellent than sleep. So after the protocol dinner I ran away in a hurry and once I arrived at the hotel I closed the room door behind me like someone who manages to protect themselves from a monster. It wasn't even ten o'clock at night when I let myself go, succumbing without fear of anyone or anything waking me up. It was so early that it seemed to me that it was not necessary to set the alarm, as accustomed as I was to waking up at dawn, believing that I had already internalized the schedule that my body should follow each day. But when I woke up the next day, the clock was passing 9:30 in the morning, I had missed a meeting and I had half an hour to pack my bag, shower, get dressed and attend another event. She was, however, full. I felt lucid, alert, fast, as if, after those eleven and a half hours of sleep, I was opening new parts of my brain. A sensation of repose prevailed in me so extraordinary and restorative that I now mentally paired it with an ecstatic state.
Before each flight, attendants emphasize that, in case of emergency, passengers traveling with minors must put on their oxygen mask before their own children. It is one of the most compelling examples for parents trying to assert themselves that they are justifying self-care in order to care for others. This is not about self-indulgence, but about a vital need: to provide ourselves with the mental, emotional and physical rest that allows us to move forward with all our faculties. A break that can also mean the opportunity for enjoyment. Being able to stop to do what everyone wants and to savor that freedom. This break can take different forms and durations. It is a replenishing truce to energize, oxygenate and reconnect with yourself, from which you gain momentum again. Spatial and temporal distance, if it is brief, feeds back love and strengthens it.
In the film The dark daughter (2021), which marked the masterful directorial debut of Maggie Gyllenhaal adapting a novel by Elena Ferrante, the protagonist abandons her two daughters for three years. The film explores the consequences that that radical decision has on the characters and serves as a point of reflection to look for softer ways to deal with reality. In this sense, my proposal is to try to find a way to breathe organically during everyday life, as well as create the opportunity to give ourselves space and time to play other roles that also define our identity.
Deciding how many days one can allow themselves to be separated from their children is something that is the responsibility of parents. They are the ones who must calibrate how much time is not too long. Each parent and each child is a world. Maybe it's just a day or a week apart. What does that mean in a calculation of 365 days together a year? Once children are sleeping through the night, and as long as they are in good hands, with familiar people with whom they already have ties, within their space and following their routine, a separation can do a lot of good. The harmony and well-being of children depends on the harmony and well-being of the parents.
On the other hand, it is a good time to try new formulas. An excellent alternative to joint parental vacations, leaving the children with grandparents or the nanny on duty, is for only one of the parents to take a break. In this way, the children would continue to stay at home and with one of their parents, which greatly softens the process of detachment. Furthermore, it allows the parent who goes on vacation, whether alone or with friends, to the same city or to an exotic country, to reconnect with her self, without having to negotiate his desires with her partner. . These solitary parentheses or those with ties that allow us to assume a role other than that of father or mother are very beneficial to be able to recharge. Ultimately, these moments of rest and disconnection remind us that taking care of ourselves is not only a right, but a fundamental need that deserves to be prioritized. Furthermore, is there anything comparable to the joy of reunion?
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