An uninterrupted hour to myself

Maybe this concern sounds trivial—and I share it at the risk of being called ungrateful—but after becoming a mother, I’ve realized that having just an hour to myself feels like peace.

I’ve come to know this isn’t just me; it’s a universal crisis that mothers of young children face every single day. You wake up to the cries of your one-year-old and go to bed exhausted after finally putting them to sleep. The hours in between slip away in a blur of tiny footsteps, messes, and endless demands.

It’s such a paradoxical feeling—you love them more than anything in the world, yet you secretly wish they’d just fall asleep so you could breathe for a minute, maybe comb your hair, maybe drink a cup of tea while it’s still warm. But the moment they do drift off, you look at their calm little faces and that gut-wrenching guilt creeps in: Am I the worst mother in the world? Or is every mother the worst mother?

How unfair motherhood really is.

There’s literally a genocide happening in the world, and here I am thinking that peace means an uninterrupted hour to myself. Am I being unreasonable? I hope not. I abhor the fascists committing crimes against humanity, but I also abhor the society that gaslights women into believing that their only wish should be for their children not to be ripped apart. That’s a horrifyingly low bar.

Everyone deserves not to be killed or starved and terrorised —but surely, peace must mean more than mere survival.

Peace should mean having the support of your family, not doing it all alone like most mothers, –married or single– do. Peace should mean not feeling guilty for being exhausted, not being judged for wanting a break. The definition of peace changes with each phase of life.

For now, for me, peace is simply an uninterrupted hour to myself.