I’ve recently been thinking a lot about how numbered my days with my kids are while they’re still young.
I registered my son, Liam, for his Driver’s Ed class last week; he’ll ask to borrow my car in no time. My daughter, Luna, turns twelve next month, and gone are the days when her only goal was snuggling with me in bed.
I secretly hope those days are like boomerangs.
I’m getting older, too. I have powerful flashbacks of my babies sleeping on my chest while I rub their tiny backs. Those days are long gone. Anyone with teenage kids knows how independent they become overnight, but as a woman who built her whole routine around her children for a decade, it’s a daunting concept. I have a lot more free time on my hands.
It was strange (and painful) adjusting to sharing custody of my kids with my ex-husband. But separating from my ex was a douceur in disguise. I found the autonomy I was looking for. And my kids are growing into mature, self-sufficient young adults.
I must be doing something right.
However, I knew I had to find a new hobby to keep my mind and body busy.
Like everyone else, I started cycling in January 2020, looking for a way out of the pandemic. Cycling quickly became my coping mechanism for many concerns in my life. At the time, I worked for a private caregiving company, and my client preferred that I drive his truck during my shift, so I started riding my bike to his house, which was only four miles away.
By March of that year, I filed for divorce and moved the kids and me in with my parents.
Cycling became my saving grace.
During the nauseating divorce process, my mind was always an email away from blowing. But cycling on busy roads required so much mental bandwidth that I got a break from myself.
I didn’t have room in my head for nonsense.
Four years later, I’m still pedaling up gnarly hills with all my heart and descending with a clear mind every time.
Thank you for reading. ❤
Previously Published on Medium
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