Put Your Own Life Mask On First: On Motherhood, Hobbies, and A Girl's Trip.

 

There’s a phrase we all know - put your own oxygen mask on before helping others. I’ve always believed in it in theory, but in practice? I tend to treat “my oxygen” as something I squeeze into the margins. A row of needlepoint here. A quick game of mahjong there. Tiny rituals that help me feel like me again.

But this past weekend, I remembered something bigger: a real reset isn’t just a hobby.

I took a trip with old friends - women who hit the dance floor with me long before I became anyone’s mom, long before my calendar was filled with shoe samples, preschool sign-ups, and swim lessons. And it was precisely the battery recharge I didn’t realize I was running so low on.

I laughed until I cried.

I slept in a hotel room alone (a luxury we do not discuss enough).

I refused to let mom-guilt creep in, even when it tried.

I was reminded what it means to be Alexis (or to this group Scobie) , not just “Oliver’s mom.”

And what surprised me wasn’t how good it felt to step away—it was how essential it was. Because the truth is: when you never stop pouring, you forget you’re supposed to refill.

What I Learned:

1. Our kids don’t need a martyr; they need a model.

When Oliver sees me show up rested, joyful, and fully myself, he gets the best version of me—not the burnt-out, running-on-fumes version that I sometimes accept as normal.

2. Rest looks different in every season.

Sometimes it’s an hour of needlepoint while a show plays in the background. Sometimes it’s a night of mahjong tiles clicking across the table. And sometimes it’s leaving town, hugging old friends, and remembering who you were before you built an entire life.

3. Guilt is a habit—not a compass.

And it takes practice not to follow it.

4. Recharging isn’t selfish. It’s strategic.

As a mom, a partner, a founder, and a human with actual desires and ambitions, I have to protect the parts of me that make me feel alive.

Coming Home

When I walked back through my front door—back to Oliver’s little voice, back to the swirl of activities and routines—I felt lighter. Clearer. More grounded. The kind of refreshed that doesn’t fade after one night of sleep.

It reminded me that motherhood is not meant to swallow us whole. Our identities aren’t something to put away in a drawer until our kids are older. They’re meant to sit beside us, grow with us, and be nurtured, too.

So here’s your permission slip (and mine):

Take the trip. Book the room. Call the friend. Protect the hobby. Make space for yourself—not just in the cracks, but in big, real ways.

Because the more we take care of ourselves, the more capacity we have to love the people who matter most.