The Day I Hid in the Bathroom (and Why It’s Okay If You Do Too)

I wasn’t even crying at first. I was just sitting there on the floor of the bathroom—door locked, back against the tub, legs stretched out on the cold tile—because that was the only place in the house where no one was touching me or asking me for something.

And for a mom of two—a five (almost six) year old who narrates every moment of his life and an 8-month-old who’s in a stage of constant motion and attachment—it was the first breath I’d taken alone all day.

There are moments in motherhood that feel magical. And there are moments where the weight of it hits like a tidal wave. This was one of those tidal wave moments. It wasn’t that something big had gone wrong. It was everything small. The peanut butter smeared onmy shirt, the spilled water that soaked through my socks, the lesson plan I didn’t finish, the nap that didn’t happen, and the guilt that came roaring in right on time.

What Led to My Bathroom Break

That day had been hard before breakfast. The baby was up every 2 hours the night before teething. My big kid was in a mood where everything was “boring” unless it involved a screen or snacks. I burned his waffles, forgot to switch the laundry (again), and realized halfway through the morning that I hadn’t even brushed my teeth.

I was short-tempered. Tired. Mentally overloaded. The kind of overstimulated that makes you flinch when someone touches you, even lovingly.

By 2 p.m., I told them, “Mommy needs a minute.” And I walked into the bathroom, locked the door, and sat down on the floor.

Why That Moment Mattered

In that moment, I didn’t feel like a failure. I felt human. And that was the shift.

I used to beat myself up for needing space. For needing to cry. For feeling like I wasn’t “grateful enough” or “strong enough” or “present enough.” But the truth is, showing up for your kids *while you're struggling* is one of the bravest things a mom can do.

We don’t talk about it enough—the raw, unfiltered, unwashed parts of motherhood. The days where it all feels like too much. The moments where the bathroom becomes the only sacred space in your entire house. But if you’ve ever had one of those moments—you’re not alone.

What I Wish Someone Had Told Me

I wish someone had said, “It’s okay if you need to step away.”

I wish someone had said, “Taking a break isn’t quitting.”

I wish someone had said, “Even the best moms hide in the bathroom sometimes.”

So I’m saying it now—to you, and to me.

Taking a break is an act of strength, not weakness. Your children don’t need a perfect mom. They need a safe one. A mom who models boundaries. A mom who breathes through the chaos. A mom who sometimes cries behind a locked door and comes out calmer than she was before.

What Happened After I Got Up

After I took a few minutes (and cried a little, let’s be honest), I wiped my face, washed my hands, and stepped back out. My son had made a fort in the living room. The baby had finally fallen asleep in her bassinet. And the world hadn’t fallen apart.

I gave my son a hug and said, “Thanks for giving Mommy a little space.”

He nodded and said, “Did you cry? It’s okay if you did.”

Yep. That one got me again.

How I’m Learning to Support Myself Now

Since then, I’ve started doing a few small things that help me cope before I reach the edge:

• I take 10 minutes alone after bedtime, even if it’s just in silence.

• I keep a snack drawer just for me—because yes, sometimes a granola bar and five minutes alone makes everything feel manageable.

• I use TickTick to brain-dump my overwhelm—it’s my mom brain lifesaver.

• I’ve stopped apologizing for needing space.

Because I want my children to grow up knowing that emotions are not weaknesses—and that caring for yourself is part of being strong.

Mama Moment

If you’ve ever locked yourself in the bathroom, sat on the floor, and wondered how you’re going to get up and keep going—you’re not broken.

You’re just a mom in the thick of it.

And you are not alone.

You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to cry. You are allowed to ask for help, or hide for a minute, or feel like you don’t have it all together.

Because love looks like a thousand little sacrifices—and sometimes, it looks like closing the bathroom door and catching your breath before the next round.

And I’m right there with you.