I am unequivocally introverted. I love to be home. I love to seclude myself in my house for days. I love to sit on my front porch in the mornings and bask in the afternoon sun in the backyard before my kids get off the bus. I love the quiet.
I love to be alone. And that is why I’m having such a hard time. Because I’m not alone.
I love my children. I adore my husband. My introverted personality is nothing new to them. They love me as I am and understand that it’s nothing personal when I need space. I’m used to being alone all day, Monday through Friday. I’m used to setting my own schedule and accomplishing everything on my to-do list.
I have long since felt that I became a better mother and a better partner when my youngest went off to school. I usually spend seven glorious hours alone each day as I primarily work from home. The time alone allows me to reset and refocus. And when I have that time of solitude, I am able to practice more patience, able to be more present. When I don’t get that time, I find myself shorter tempered and overwhelmed.
While the rest of the world hates Mondays, I rejoice in them because after two days in close proximity to the ones I love without a respite, I yearn for the stillness. At the start of the week, I can breathe deeply.
I’ve been home with my kids for about two weeks now and there are times when I literally feel like my skin is crawling. I can’t handle one more touch, one more question. Did I mention I suddenly find myself a homeschooling mom now as well? Definitely not in my wheelhouse.
And while everything I’ve written here is true, I can read through it and see how utterly selfish it appears. My family is HEALTHY. Our income is stable. Our life has not changed drastically, we’re just a little inconvenienced.
That’s really nothing in the broad scheme of things.