In Praise of Quiet Lunch

"Some kids just need it," the principal told me, with a look on her face that said she understood that need.

We were standing in a doorway during the school open house, talking about some of the things the school offers that are so beneficial for my children. 

One of those things is giving students the choice to have "quiet lunch" - meal time with just a few other students in a classroom, away from the cavernous cafeteria-slash-auditorium that teems with boisterous students. It's was a new program this fall, and both of my kids joined in. 

Over the last five years, my son has complained many times about how loud the cafeteria can get. So loud that he has to yell to be heard, so loud that the principal has walked down from her office to deliver admonitions and a warning glare. Like his mother, my son finds it overwhelming and distressing to be in noisy or chaotic places for too long; it was no surprise to me when he said he signed up to have "quiet lunch" two days a week. 

I did not expect my daughter to say she also signed up for two days a week. She is my social one who makes a new best friend wherever she goes. She has never complained about a place that was too raucous or too loud. But as long as she's enjoying "quiet lunch," I'll let her choose. 

During the school open house, when I asked her where she usually sits in the cafeteria, she said she has "quiet lunch" all five days now. 

At first, I was a little shocked that I didn't know she was so averse to the noise of the cafeteria. Then I was proud of her for realizing what she needed and pursuing it at only 7 years old.

I was a little slower on the uptake: I didn't know I was an introvert until after I became a mom. 

For years, I thought introversion had certain hallmarks - the stereotypical awkward girl sitting alone and silent at the back of the classroom who never raises her hand. But I am not shy, I don't lack social skills, and I'm definitely not hesitant to speak my opinion. I never considered myself an introvert.

So in my teens, when my mother mentioned that she knew not to ask about my day for at least an hour after I got home from school, I agreed but didn't think much of it.

In my 20s, when it became standard for my husband and I to take separate cars to a party so I could leave when I'd had enough noise and socializing, I thought it was just a quirk of my personality.

And in my 30s, when my kids were finally sleeping through the night but I was still exhausted from all of the together time and noise and general chaos, I couldn't figure out what I was doing wrong. 

Why is being a mother so hard for me? 

Because the true definition of an introvert has little to do with how I expend energy, and everything to do with how I reclaim energy. If interacting with others drains you instead of energizing you, then you are an introvert. If you need quiet downtime alone to recharge at the end of the day or week, you are an introvert. 

I had no idea.

Before my children were born, I had plenty of quiet time alone already built in to my life. My husband worked shift work with hours and days that didn't match my traditional 9-to-5 job. Several nights a week I could put on yoga pants and sit alone to read, watch a show, or work on a project. These nights refilled my energy so that I could spend workdays interacting with people and maybe hang out with friends on the weekends. 

Once kids came into the picture, I no longer had any downtime. Especially in the early years, my job was to take care of them 24/7 - even when they were asleep, I was listening for cries or coughs that said they needed me. There is no being "off the clock" as a mother of young children. 

It was emotionally exhausting. 

It still is. 

A decade later, my kids are mostly able to fill their own immediate needs for food, bathroom breaks, sleep, and entertainment. But I am still the primary parent, surrounded by talking and questions and "look at this, mom!" during noisy activities. I'm still on duty for them most of my waking hours, giving giving giving. 

By far, the hardest part of being a mom, for me, is simultaneously being an introvert. I love them endlessly, and they also deplete my energy until I have nothing left. 

The internet will tell you that the answer is is self-care: take a bubble bath, give yourself a pedicure, or walk in the woods. The drip-drip-drip of those relatively brief activities does keep me moving forward, but it takes at least 24 hours (sometimes more) of quiet time alone for me to truly feel like myself again. There's not enough days in the week to be present for my children and also refill my own cup.

So I run on half-empty, constantly. I feel tired in ways that sleep won't cure. And that's just the way it is right now - maybe for the foreseeable future, too. 

I'm glad my daughter is learning young the things she needs to take care of her mental and emotional wellbeing. Maybe, if and when she decides to be a mother, she'll remember "quiet lunches" at school and recognize that an hour of introvert time may not restore her entirely, but at least it will buoy her enough to make it a little while longer.