I can only speak as a father, but I know the following applies to any configuration.
After a long day, sometimes I just want silence. Sometimes, I want my decompression routine: retreat to my office, read, write, or work on a project. On a good day, my commute is a two hour roundtrip, and work isn’t a walk in the park (unless I walk through the park next to my office during a break). By the time I get home, I’m spent.
But my family hasn’t seen me all day. They don’t know what kind of day I had. What they do know is that, for some reason, they’re happy to see me.
Because of how late I get home, even though she also works full time, my wife has dinner ready to go. When I get in the door, I can see everyone sitting around the table waiting for me, so the final meal of the day can be consumed. I started a check-in ritual that’s familiar to a lot of families: going around the table, asking how everyone’s day went. It felt forced at first, but now my five-year-old changed her “I don’t remembers” into the most detailed recap possible from a kindergartner, challenging the skills of a courtroom stenographer.
I try to retreat afterward, but there are pulls in different directions…
- My son wants me to hear a song he wrote on his guitar, or…
- My insanely energetic daughter who can’t control the volume of her voice needs help beating a game, or…
- Someone was waiting all day for me to fix something, or…
- Or, or, or…
One thing leads to another, and suddenly it’s almost time for bed.
Sometimes that’s overwhelming. Sometimes I just want to be alone. Sometimes I want to say, “I just need some me time right now; can you go do your own thing?” Sometimes, yes, I think that’s important, but here’s something that pulls me back to the present:
You’re wanted until you’re not.
These are the moments that matter. Instead of wishing for silence, I’m learning to wish that my family keeps wanting me. I’ve had kids at different stages of life. One set is mostly grown, and the other is just starting elementary school. If you don’t make every intention to build and maintain relationships with your kids, I promise it will fade.
Rebuilding it later is harder, and I’m speaking from experience. This is more important than hitting a KPI.
“What can you do now in your life so that one year or five years from now, you won’t look back and have similar dismay about the new regrets you’ve accumulated? In other words, can you find a way to live without continuing to accumulate regrets?”
Irvin D. Yalom, Staring at the Sun (p. 101)
This doesn’t just apply to kids. It applies to your partner, too. It’s on you to make sure you don’t just have a roommate.
As adults, it’s our responsibility to nurture the relationships we’re in.
As time creeps, it’s easy to think you’re “taking care of yourself” by just doing your own thing, but when you’re finally “ready,” there’s no guarantee the people you love will still be waiting to connect.
You can even see it happening:
- Kids stop asking you to play.
- Spouses stop asking you to tag along on errands.
- You don’t know the names of your kid’s friends.
Anything else I’m missing?
At first, it feels like breathing room or that your kids are just maturing. Later, you realize it was disconnection in disguise.
This isn’t even about overworking and not spending enough time at home. That’s a different conversation. This is about making the minutes matter.