How I stopped feeling guilty about taking time for myself as a parent

I didn't notice I was running on empty until my daughter asked me to play and I heard myself say no before she'd finished the sentence. This family magazine had run a piece about parents needing time of their own, and it listed the signs I'd been ignoring for months. Worn out, snapping over nothing. Sitting down in the evening and feeling like the day had happened to somebody else.

The first thing I did was small, almost embarrassing. A walk. Alone, round the block, no podcast, no phone. It lasted about as long as a kettle takes to boil and it changed the whole afternoon.

Then I asked. Not for a weekend away, just for one hour a week that belongs to me, on a day we agree in advance so nobody has to guess. My partner took Wednesday evenings. A friend took Saturday mornings, which gives me the market without the children hanging off the trolley.

I gave up one thing as well. A committee I'd joined mostly because I couldn't think of a reason to say no. Saying no once made the next no easier, and the third one was almost enjoyable.

The guilt didn't vanish. It sat with me for the first few walks and then got bored. What I noticed instead was the coming back. I'd walk in with something left to give, and the children felt it before I did. Less shouting. More sitting on the floor.

I still feel the pull of the house when I'm out. I go anyway. A parent who lasts the evening is worth more than a parent who never leaves it.