Being a homeschool parent is often a long game of thievery — except, instead of shoving purse-sized hand sanitizers into your purse at Bath & Body Works, you’re shoving handfuls of chocolate chips into your mouth inside your pantry in the stolen five seconds when your kids aren’t looking.
This won’t come as a surprise to any parent out there, especially the ones surrounded by kids 24/7.
All time is stolen!
But do you ever wonder what it’d be like if your kids were gone all day at school and you had all those hours to yourself instead? If you could poop without getting a knock on the door asking for help with math? If you could snack on Halloween candy at 10 a.m. without having to share with the kids who you know will turn feral as soon as they get their hands on some? If you could hear yourself think long enough to make a meal plan for the week?
Sure, stealing time to ourselves can feel hard, and yet… would we want it any other way?
I thought about this as I made laps with my Go Ruck vest on at our local jiu-jitsu gym. While my boys were rolling on the mat inside with their friends, I was outside committing double thievery — squeezing in listening to a podcast while working out. The nerve of me!
Should I feel guilty for not watching their every move? They said they were fine with me not being in the room for the full hour.
Should I feel guilty for leaving the Professor with my two wild boys? He said he didn’t mind, and he’s probably better at disciplining them in this environment than I would be anyway.
Should I feel guilty for not catching up on work while I have this pocket of time to steal from? Maybe.
Guilt becomes a recurring theme when we think we’re stealing from others, and yet, funny enough, we rarely feel guilty when we’re stealing from ourselves.
Shouldn’t we feel more guilty for stealing our health by not working out, properly meal planning, or allowing ourselves to rest? Probably… but do we? Not often enough.
Sometimes I wonder if this is a people-pleasing thing. Or if it’s some residual trauma from our childhood somewhere (everyone’s telling us there’s trauma from our childhood these days). Or if it’s just because our hearts for our kids are skyscraper big, so they shadow the log-cabin-sized heart we hold for ourselves.
On this particular jiujitsu day, I chose to put all the guilt and worry that I was letting down my kids, their Professor, and my business aside as I snuck in a walk around the property where their gym is located. This particular gym is on a ranch property, so some horses and donkeys often greet me as I make each lap.
They huff a bit. They swat away the flies with their ears. And they prance around their pen proudly showing off for me. It’s sweet. And more than that… it’s simple.
They’re not stealing seconds. They don’t feel guilty. They’re not worried that they’re going to disappoint me by standing in the wrong spot, choosing food over a nose wave when I pass by, or pooping. (I had not expected to write so much about poop when I first started this, but here we are).
It was at this moment, surrounded by horses, hay, and a whole lot of dirt, that I realized something big — I’d put on the wrong set of sunglasses.
You see, a year ago, when I walked my boys to the car for the last time from their A+ rated public school, sobbing underneath my regular Sepia-toned lenses, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I stood looking straight into the unknown at these new responsibilities, this new schedule, and this new lifestyle. Sure, everything looked a little more beautiful in the sepia, but it also seemed a little more beige. A little more drowned out.
No wonder I was panicking. No wonder I felt the pressure to not let my kids feel that level of beige in their own lives now that we’ve uprooted all we’ve ever known.
Over the past year, I have put pressure on myself. I wanted to do everything right. I wanted to give them the experiences that everyone told me they’d miss out on (they haven’t). I wanted to ensure that we were adding color wherever possible, while still maintaining the weight of their learning, education, and livelihood.
When I’m feeling guilty, I realize that I’ve grabbed these sunglasses again.
But when I swap out the tinted shades for the polarized lenses, things feel a whole lot better.
You see, polarized lenses cut out the glare of the “shoulds” and the worry of disappointment. They erase the clutter of worry and bring into focus the things that really matter.
And you’ll know the difference in that lens when you put on the polarized glasses — and that’s when we can stop looking at time as stolen.
Because when you see things differently, you can also feel things differently. Every moment you think you’re stealing away from others is really just a moment that you’re gaining for your own well-being — and we all know that when the parents are happy, the kids feel that same lighthearted energy and feel better too.
It’s not “stealing” and thievery in motion. It’s literally our job as parents. As people.
And that’s when it hit me. Maybe I feel guilty for sneaking in time for myself because I’m worried that it’ll make me irrelevant. Even for a split second. Maybe I’m worried that I won’t matter when I’m not showing up for others in such a big way. Maybe I’m worried my family won’t feel loved if I’m not putting a homemade dinner on the table each morning, noon, and night. They won’t feel cared for if I’m not constantly there cheering them on at soccer practices, games, and jiu jitsu rolls. They won’t miss me if I sneak away for a second. If I’m not cleaning up the dishes, do I even matter.
But I don’t do these things so that I can matter to them. I do these things because they matter to me. And in doing them, doesn’t that mean that the time spent cleaning, cooking, lesson planning, preparing, teaching, and driving the many, many, many miles around town mean that no time is really stolen? It’s all part of the adventure. It’s all part of the experience.
It’s just not what you’d expect from the Hallmark style life of a working mom who’s homeschooling her kids (a film they absolutely must make this year - are you listening Hallmark?!)
Maybe I’ve shifted as a person, too. The things I used to think I wanted — the things that would make me important, noteworthy, relevant, and ~ matter ~ — are different than what they used to be. Instead of striving to be invited on podcasts, speaking on stages, writing books, writing content for big-name publications, and scoring big name clients, what if I’m now striving for something totally different that I haven’t named yet.
Today, at 42, I don’t want the hustle and grind anymore. I want to show up big but in new ways:
To make impromptu hot chocolate when it starts raining outside
To perfect some soup recipes for this Fall season
To be able to visit my grandma and let my kids know her while we have that time with her (none of those seconds are stolen - they’re treasured)
To witness my kids learning and growing as people
To get to go on field trips and experience new things with them
To teach them
To introduce them to new situations
To love them through the hard
To high five them when they get their test scores back and they’re proud of their accomplishment
To bake together
To eat meals together
To work out together
To learn archery together
To be together
To think that you have to steal moments for yourself actually can mean something wholly untrue:
That you have to continue lighting yourself on fire to keep others warm.
The reality is that homeschooling is almost just as much about you, the parent, as it is about the kids. And maybe what you used to strive for no longer matters to you, and that’s okay.
You’re allowed to grow alongside your kids.
You’re allowed to shift your desires and lean into what brings you moments of peace.
You’re allowed to wake up early and sip your morning coffee and write and share and tell your story if that’s what you want to do (it’s what I want to do). You’re allowed to create space for yourself and your ideas, just as much as you’re creating space for your kids to grow in their ideas too.
When you stop viewing time as stolen? When you stop thinking of your own needs as less relevant than the needs of others? When you stop trying to be all things to all people?
You start to feel less guilty about creating a plan that includes you in it, too.
Imagine what would happen if we let ourselves steal time without feeling guilty or ashamed. Imagine what life could feel like if we lived all moments to the max – the schooldays, the challenges, the field trips, and even the quiet times of solitude squeezed in between. Imagine how much better it would all feel if we didn’t lace those quiet moments with guilt every time we got ‘em.
Homeschooling was supposed to be about helping others learn and grow. Instead, it showed me how much growth I still have to do, too. Turns out, stealing time for yourself isn’t about stealing at all; it’s about finally stopping the chase for something outside of your control and feeling whole again right where you are.