It has taken me years to accept a societal truth that it is okay for me to take time for myself instead of giving every little bit of me, squeezed out and wrung dry, to my children and everyone else who’s asking. It’s only been recently, however, that I no longer feel guilty (mostly) taking that time, and so it was with zero guilt a couple of nights ago that I skipped out on making dinner, taking the opportunity instead to read a book on our porch swing. My gosh, it was glorious. And uplifting. It was uplifting!

It was the first cool evening we have had in weeks. The air held just enough moisture to conjure up feelings of being surrounded by ancient giant redwood trees, though in reality I was surrounded by commuters (aka my neighbors) pulling into their driveways. Most significantly, although my children were running around the neighborhood with their friends, I did not feel anxious or worried or stressed; I only felt peaceful. A rare all-encompassing feeling as a 2019 parent!

I read my book, but I also lazily swung on the swing with my eyes closed, inhaling and feeling the outdoors in my very bones. I was cognizant of taking the moment in because I find that as a grownup, these moments are too few and far between. One of my goals as an experienced adult is to tilt the balance of this scale so that my experiences of inner peace become more frequent than the anxious ones.

PSA: Fret not. I ordered pizza for dinner so no appetites were harmed during the making of my peace.

PSA: I ordered pizza for dinner so no appetites were harmed in the making of my peace.