The Night I Hid In My Closet

No one knows this story. Not my husband. Not my best friend. Not even my therapist. But I think I’m ready to share it now, anonymously, because maybe there's another mom out there who needs to know she’s not alone.

It happened three years ago, on a Tuesday. A regular, uneventful Tuesday. Dinner was mac and cheese (from a box), the baby had a diaper rash, and my toddler was in full-blown tantrum mode because I cut her toast the “wrong” way. My husband was working late—again. I hadn’t showered in two days, my shirt had a suspicious stain (milk? spit-up? tears?), and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a full night’s sleep.

Around 8:17 PM, after a full day of snack fetching, toy retrieving, and crisis managing, I reached my breaking point. I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry. I didn’t throw anything.

I just… disappeared.

I walked into my bedroom, closed the door quietly, and slid into the back of my closet.

I sat there in the dark, knees to my chest, between winter coats and a box of maternity clothes I couldn’t bring myself to donate. I wasn’t having a panic attack. I wasn’t planning to run away. I just needed to not be needed—for five minutes.

Here’s the secret part: I do this often. Not every day. Not even every week. But in the hardest moments, when I feel like I’m drowning in expectations and Cheerios, I go hide. Not because I’m weak or broken—but because it’s the only space I’ve carved out where I don’t have to be anything to anyone.

And in that small, quiet closet, with the door shut and the world paused, I remember I’m still me. I’m still here.

That night, I stayed in there for twelve minutes. When I came out, the kids were fine. Nothing had burned down. The world hadn’t ended. But I felt just a little bit more like myself.

I know I’m not the only mom who’s ever wanted to escape. So if you’ve ever hidden in the bathroom, sat in your parked car just a little too long, or cried while folding laundry—you’re not alone.

Sometimes being strong means knowing when to step away. Even if it’s into a closet.