presence after – A new parent revisits what “being present” really means—shaped by the pandemic, work, and the constant pull of a glowing phone.
The idea of being fully present sounds simple until life turns it into a constant balancing act.
In her 20s. living in New York City. she would take a long subway ride downtown to a quiet room at a Tibetan Buddhist meditation center in Chelsea every week.. Surrounded by strangers. she was searching for peace from within—an especially meaningful pursuit in a period when the neighborhood around her didn’t feel like the best place to be at ease.
By her early 30s. the picture changed as the pandemic swept across the world and motherhood arrived at the same time.. Her daughter. Simone. was born in April 2020. when households were still spraying down groceries and everyday life carried an extra layer of caution.. In those early weeks, the mix of joy, fear, and exhaustion was intense.. At the urging of her doctor. she also made a choice that many families considered during that era: she left New York City to have the baby. a move framed as something that could reduce risk and make the experience easier on her and the medical team.
In the blur of newborn days, like so many people, she reached for her phone. Doomscrolling wasn’t just a phrase she heard; it became routine. Instead of using her attention intentionally, her mind settled into the tight, charged gap between her baby and the bright screen in her hand.
Six years later, she says everything looks different.. She has a son, Julius, and her life has involved two moves—first to New Jersey and then to Chicago.. Digital life has also shifted: she has apps that lock her out of social media after a certain point. participates in an accountability group that discusses presence. and is building a new. still imperfect relationship with her phone.. The effort is there, but the feeling is complicated.
As her children grow, she finds that what they need changes.. The physical demands may ease, but the attention she’s expected to give grows more frequent and more specific.. “Mommy. mommy. mommy. ” shows up on the living room rug. at the monkey bars. and in the middle of imaginary play.. Sometimes she’s supposed to be an audience; other times, a scene partner—or even a co-star.. Even her participation has a script now. with her daughter’s latest play sometimes requiring her lines and particular hand gestures.
That’s where her question becomes sharper: sometimes her children’s need for engagement lands at the exact moment her adult responsibilities are also demanding her.. It can be when chicken thighs need flipping. when pasta water is about to boil over. or when an urgent email is blinking at the top of her screen.. In those moments. being present doesn’t feel like a calm. mindful choice so much as a logistical impossibility—something repeatedly interrupted by the competing clocks of home and work.
Still, she says she wants the opposite of split attention.. She wants to look up—truly look up—and meet her kids’ eyes.. She doesn’t want them to notice that her face is there while her attention is elsewhere. pulled toward whatever is glowing in her hand.. She also worries about what happens when childhood is punctuated by quick delays—those small deferrals of “one second” that can become a pattern.
Part of the weight of that concern comes from how she remembers herself before motherhood.. In the quiet Chelsea room. she sat cross-legged and tried to notice her breath. gently bringing her attention back when it wandered.. She believed presence was something you could practice into shape—clean and contained, something improved through effort.. She didn’t realize then what motherhood would do to the boundaries of attention.
What troubles her now is that her life isn’t only parenting.. It includes work and deadlines. ambition and creative energy. friendships and dog walks. plus the thousands of small. invisible tasks that keep a household running.. She says her kids matter most—but she’s reconsidering what that means in practice.. The central question becomes how that priority translates into time, into attention, and into the actual shape of a day.
Lately, she’s felt pressure coming from parent-centered corners of social media.. The expectation. at times. is that being present must go beyond simply showing up—it should be deep. constant. and almost performative.. The ideal is often described as fully engaged play on the floor. phone away. eyes locked. and every moment treated as meaningful.
Her concern isn’t that her values are wrong.. It’s that the expectation can feel like too much.. She’s left asking what presence really requires in the moment: how much play truly needs her as an active scene partner. and how much simply needs her nearby while she keeps an eye on the basics—flipping the food. listening with one ear. trusting that imagination won’t disappear the second she steps half a pace away.
She’s starting to wonder whether presence doesn’t have to mean total immersion all the time.. Instead. it could mean something more sustainable: a few minutes of undivided attention; a bedtime story that stretches a little longer than necessary but lands exactly right; eye contact that stays and holds when it matters.. And just as importantly. it could include pauses and breaks. because even a simple dinner has steps and timing. and a busy evening doesn’t stop for mindfulness to be convenient.. The show, as she puts it, will go on—along with the demands of real life.
parenthood attention mindfulness doomscrolling phone habits work-life balance pandemic motherhood