“Finding It Hard to Relax: My Kids Are Away, Yet I Can’t Stop Cyberstalking Them” – Emma Brockes

On Sunday, I bid farewell to my kids as they embarked on a two-week adventure at camp. Surprisingly, this wasn’t part of my initial summer plan. The idea of sleepaway camp, a quintessential experience for American children, filled me with apprehension. I can’t help but think that at their age of eight, I would have despised being sent away and forced into the notion of having fun. However, my children are their own individuals, and their relentless persuasion led me to finally give in last week. So here I am, in New York, while they enjoy their time at a lake in New Jersey.

This period of detachment should benefit all of us. Unless you subscribe to the Edwardian practice of sending off your children to boarding schools as part of some long-term plan to ruin the country, parenting young ones is an intense endeavor. As a single parent of twins, the absence of immediate family support makes it feel as if I’m a single entity divided into three. This period of separation feels rather strange since, in the past eight years, I haven’t spent more than three consecutive nights away from my kids. There’s no spouse to share the evening responsibilities or a wife to carry more than 50% of the burden. While this arrangement works for us, it amplifies the peculiarity of this separation. I’ve never been one to completely lose myself in motherhood, so why do I currently feel like a wandering spirit in my own home?

The problem is partly due to the structure of parenthood. There comes a point when the relief from constant pressure isn’t necessarily refreshing but rather a potential catalyst for collapse. Without the routine of drop-off and pick-up, the perpetual cycle of feeding and cleaning, and the ceaseless role of referee in their never-ending fights, what becomes the guiding principle of my day? When should I wake up and go to bed? And how can I accomplish anything without the adrenaline rush that overcomes my underlying exhaustion? People suggest using this time to “relax,” which, in my case, means delighting in the luxury of returning items to Old Navy and initiating a complaint process for my broken bin (which, by the way, was an expensive bin with a lifetime guarantee – naturally, I want a replacement).

Admittedly, this might seem rather pitiful on paper and probably not the ideal course of action. Perhaps I could treat myself to a haircut or a leisurely lunch. People do have lunch, right? Friends advise me to indulge in “self-care,” like traditional mani-pedi pampering, and I can appreciate that suggestion. However, the thought of sitting still while someone fusses over my feet instills panic within me. At the very least, I should make the most of my investment in camp, considering it wasn’t exactly cheap. I could buckle down and tackle two months’ worth of work or even schedule a minor bout of illness. Without responsibilities, it seems like the perfect time to fall ill.

And that’s just the surface level of panic. Beneath it all lies a profound sense of anxiety about where my children are and what they’re doing. It resembles the days and weeks that followed their births, when any moment I spent away from them instigated an unsettling feeling that something was gravely amiss. I resist the urge to send needy emails to the camp; I still have some sense of pride. However, I meticulously examine every photo uploaded on the camp’s portal, scrutinizing each image like a detective on the hunt for clues. Is that a genuine smile on my daughter’s face, or is it merely a facade to make the best of her situation? She appears cold in the water, doesn’t she? Could that be sunburn?

As I mentioned, this period of separation sheds light on potential areas of attachment I should address. When friends with older children discuss their fear of empty nest syndrome, I often scoffed and thought, “that will never happen to me.” I am deeply engaged in my work, maintain solid relationships outside of my role as a parent, and possess a clear understanding of who I am and my purpose. Just last night, I went out with friends, and I have plans to do the same tonight. It’s all fun, engaging in activities and socializing to distract myself from the truth: I’m eagerly counting down the seconds until my children return home.