In my opinion, the heavy loneliness that settles in when your child goes on vacation with the other parent is unlike anything else.
Whenever my daughter leaves to spend several days with her dad, something moves deep within me — a tornado of emotions, each one stronger than the last.

First comes the physical ache of separation. My body tightens and letting her go feels almost like medical surgery, as if I’m cutting off a living part of myself. Then comes the emotional pain — that deep, suffocating feeling that crushes your chest and steals your breath. Slowly, worries begin to surface. My mind starts creating endless scenarios of what could go wrong while I’m not there to protect her. This is how the anxiety wakes up from its quiet sleep, and I must wrestle with it just to remain functional.

And then there’s guilt. The quiet guilt of knowing that my child has to split her magical vacation moments — sometimes with just her mom, other times with just her dad. Always missing the other parent. I imagine how heartbreaking that must feel for her, and my heart aches a little more.

On the first day of separation, it also happens that I feel like I’ve lost my purpose. Who am I without my child? As a mother, it feels as though I’ve been left without my “work project,” and I have to shake myself free from that mindset just to find balance again.

The good news is that, over time, the intensity of these emotions has softened. Like anything else, practice and acceptance make things easier to handle. I remember when, in the early months after the separation, even a weekend apart would break me. I could spend the entire time lying on the couch, counting the hours until she returned. Now, that phase lasts “only” half a day. Progress, right?

Still, it’s not easy to live with the thought that my daughter doesn’t have both parents around at the same time. I’m still working on accepting that — and maybe I always will be.

Yet, among all these emotions, gratitude quietly finds its place. I’m grateful that my daughter gets to experience new adventures with her dad, building memories that belong only to them. Their bond grows stronger each time, and I know that a strong relationship with her father will help her grow into a confident woman — one who understands her worth and recognizes healthy love when she finds it.

As I said, it’s an emotional blend — love, longing, guilt, gratitude — all coexisting inside me. I allow myself to feel them fully, and then, slowly, I let them go. Because as much as I am her mother, I am, first and foremost, a woman — learning, healing, and growing through every separation and every return.

During these days apart, I’ve learned to take care of myself in ways that truly make me happy.
I read, watch a good movie, enjoy dinner out with a friend, go for long walks, or simply sit down to write on my blog — letting my thoughts and emotions flow freely. These small acts of self-care refill my energy and remind me that joy can coexist with aching. With a full heart and recharged batteries, I wait for my daughter’s return with love and excitement.

I’ve also discovered how much I enjoy finding new passions — things that belong just to me. Hiking in the mountains, attending the opera, exploring new places, or trying something I’ve never done before… each experience brings me closer to the woman I had forgotten I was. For years, I lived in “mom mode,” focused entirely on nurturing, protecting, and planning. Now, I’m gently waking up parts of myself that have been asleep — the curious, adventurous, passionate sides that remind me that I am more than a mother. I am a whole woman, still learning, still becoming.

Warm Regards,

The Red Fairy

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