#Unsettled

As a Dance Mom and Travel Baseball Mom, my life appears to be measured in mileage, tournament fees, and hotel points.

If you looked at our bank statement, you’d see a very clear hierarchy of who matters in this house. Any extra funds? They go to the dance floor. The gas money? That’s for the tournament in a city three hours away. We don’t drive fancy cars. We don’t go on “destination” vacations that don’t involve a trophy. Our lives revolve around our kids and their passions—which also happen to be our passions as well.

This year feels a little different, though. It was my last year of travel baseball. After seasons of dusty diamonds and weekend double-headers, that chapter is closing. But there is no “slowing down”—I’m still full steam ahead on the dance train. Even as I feel the momentum of the dance season picking up, I have this nagging awareness that it, too, will come to an end before I know it. We are sprinting toward a finish line we aren’t sure we’re ready for.

And let’s be real: in today’s world, being a “supportive parent” is expensive. Prices are rising every single day, and we find ourselves constantly tightening the reins. This year, I even got a roommate for the dance season to split the hotel and travel costs. We budget. We plan meals. We try to be the “responsible adults.”

I know we’ve all done this: You’re at a restaurant, you order a meal for your kid, but you don’t order anything for yourself. Why? Because you already know they aren’t going to eat the whole thing, and you’re just going to finish their scraps to save $10.

We deny ourselves a fresh meal so they can have the extra side of fries. It’s a cycle. We sacrifice our wants—and often our needs—until we’re running on fumes. It’s actually ridiculous because, if we were home for the weekend, we would be getting our own meals!

One evening at a dance competition, my roommate and I decided to break character. We had brought our own screw-top wine for the weekend (the ultimate budget move), but we decided to go down to the bar. We just wanted to sit in a nice chair and have someone bring us a fancy glass of wine.

Well, one glass turned into two. Two turned into three.

When the bill came, I felt that familiar stomach-drop. Shoot. We were trying to be so responsible, and here we were, “completely blowing it” on a few hours of conversation.

The next morning, while checking out, I was still shaking my head at the total. My roommate—who is more conscious of every penny than anyone I know—looked at me and said: “It’s okay. We don’t need to feel guilty for doing a little something for us.”

She was right. How many times have we bought the kids a $7 Starbucks refresher without blinking? How many times have we handed over the credit card for their every whim while denying ourselves a single moment of peace?

I realized then that I had been sucked into the “Parental Vortex.” It’s the place where you give, give, give, and never stop to refuel your own tank. But running on fumes does nothing for anyone.

I had to remind myself: I am the parent. I am the one in charge. And I am the one who holds the purse.

My daughter does not need an açaí lemonade refresher every single time she asks for one. If saying “no” to her whim means I can say “yes” to the glass of wine that keeps me sane, that isn’t being selfish. It’s a leadership decision.

My husband and I rarely go out together. One of us is always heading in the opposite direction for a commitment. And when we finally do carve out time, we’re usually too tired to leave the couch.

But we forget that putting ourselves first isn’t a betrayal of our kids—it’s a requirement for our mental health and our relationship. You can’t be your best self if you never stop to recharge your batteries, especially when you can see the end of the road approaching.

So, here is your permission slip:

• Say “no” to the extra Starbucks.
• Say “yes” to the glass of wine.
• Change the schedule.
• Go on the date.

The world isn’t going to end because you stopped being the “human garbage disposal” for a night. Life is short, and these seasons—the baseball cleats, the stage makeup, the frantic carpools—pass in the blink of an eye. Take the small moments for yourself while you’re still in the thick of it.

You aren’t just a driver, a coach, or a checkbook. You’re a person. And you deserve to have something for yourself—no guilt.