Seeing with New Eyes: Reflections from a Parenting Pause

Right now, my daughter is on a school trip to Nepal—being adventurous, brave, and very far away. She’s spending seven whole nights away from us for the first time in her life. And for the first time in 13 years, I have an entire week of evenings without the familiar rhythm of her presence: the sound of her laughter down the hall, the thud of her iPad hitting the sofa, the quiet comfort of knowing she’s just in the next room.

So… what does one do with all this silence and space?

Get this: no school runs, no lunchbox dilemmas, no late pickups or timely bedtime routines. The minute Mr R and I waved her off at the airport, we were hit with a dizzying question: What now?! Oh, the possibilities!

I had grand plans, of course. Self-care and couple time—those elusive unicorns for working parents—were high on the list. My dream week included late mornings (a no-brainer for my body clock), beach walks and breakfast dates with Mr R, a dinner out, fancy cooking at home, finally using that long-lost Christmas massage voucher, yoga every day, a solo shopping trip (just imagine!), and uninterrupted work time—because I genuinely love what I do and rarely get to sink into it without clock-watching.

And then my daughter sent me a photo.

The Buddha Eyes.

Those calm, all-seeing eyes gazing out from a stupa in Kathmandu stopped me in my tracks. They hold layers of meaning—compassion, awareness, omniscience. They represent the third eye: insight beyond the visible, deeper wisdom. And maybe I was projecting a little (Is she safe? Has she eaten?), but the photo stirred something.

It invited me inward.

In that moment, I realised this time wasn’t just for ticking off a to-do list of restorative activities. It was an invitation to pause, to observe, and to really see—with fresh eyes—what this stage of motherhood is revealing to me.

So, yet again, I gave myself permission to feel.

Joy at the freedom of choosing my own rhythm. Sadness and worry when messages didn’t get through from the valley of the Trishuli River. Relief when they eventually did. And a deep, proud ache as I witnessed my daughter stepping into her growing independence.

And slowly, my carefully crafted self-care schedule softened. The “doing” gave way to simply being. Listening. Letting the day unfold based on how I felt—not what I’d planned.

Here’s what I didn’t end up doing:

∙ No beach walk (40°C is not my walking weather).

∙ No dinner out (home, old movies, and pizza won).

∙ No fancy meals (I read, and sorted holiday photos instead).

∙ No massage (yet—time freedom felt more restorative).

∙ No shopping (turns out I didn’t even want to!).

Instead, I honoured what I actually needed. A couple of late mornings, early or late nights depending on the mood. Reading. Writing. Yoga. Un-rushed work. Connected presence with my husband and delicious time alone. Things I genuinely wanted to do—and could do, fully.

They weren’t ”shoulds."

As Althea Luna puts it, “Your inner child is not a wounded child that needs fixing. It is your original self who still holds the keys to your joy, curiosity, and intuition.”

Over these quiet days, I reconnected with that inner self. I let her choose. And I said yes — to myself.

So—how does this tie into actual parenting?

Simply put, we can’t give our children what we’re unwilling, or unable, to give ourselves. When we practice noticing, honouring and meeting our own needs with compassion and presence, we develop the awareness and emotional muscle to do the same for our children. We learn what it actually feels like to be attuned, resourced, and regulated—so we’re better able to co-regulate, and respond rather than react, offering our grounded connection when our child needs us most.

When we tend to our own inner child with care, non-judgment and respect, we grow into the kind of parents who are able to create a safe emotional container for our real children: to welcome all of their feelings, acknowledge their rhythms, make room for their own decisions. We can hold space for them—to feel, to rest, to explore, and to choose for themselves.

And I know, without a doubt, my daughter will need exactly that when she comes back.

This rare parenting pause—aside from the occasional WhatsApp check-in and the odd international-crisis-averting call—has been a growth opportunity for all of us.

And now? I can’t wait for her to walk through the door so I can absolutely smother her with cuddles, stories, snacks… and the softest landing imaginable.

Because even Buddha Eyes would agree: there’s no place like home.