Hiding Places

Where do you go when you want to get away from the pressures of life, family, work, etc?

In the past, it’s been an actual, physical place for me.

In high school, my favorite place to hide was a specific tree in a local park. It was relatively easy to climb, and had magnificent views of sky and mountains. If I kept my eyes focused up, I could easily imagine I was alone in the world. No worries, no demands, no expectations. With the rough bark of the tree linking me to the ground below, I felt as if I could stretch up and touch the sky.

At home, I also did a lot of hiding in my room. I hid so much that my younger brother once tried to invent a system to talk to me while I was down there. He drew wonderful pictures of a very loud intercom system so that the rest of the family could get my attention no matter how deep in a book my nose was lodged.

During the first part of my marriage to the Z-man, there was a bench hidden in some trees on the edge of a park on BYU campus that I claimed as my own. It was a popular park during the day, but this particular bench was away from the most popular areas. Partially hidden by trees, yet near enough to open spaces and walkways that the seclusion was not dangerous. The exact location of this bench is one that I’ve never revealed. Not even when I was using it nearly daily. It was vital to me that I have a place where no one could track me down. A place where I was not wife, or daughter, or sister, or student, or employee. I was simply me. I could be alone—completely alone. I cherished the moments I was able to steal on that bench. It was dirty, sometimes cold. There was no back on the bench, and sometimes I sat there until my back ached and my legs fell asleep. But it was mine in a very real way. Whenever pressure would mount or my emotions would rise, I would feel myself pulled to my hiding place.

For the years I was working full-time, I used my bathroom as a reprieve nearly every Sunday night. I would turn on music loud enough to not hear Z-man knocking about in the apartment, turn off the lights, and soak in a hot bath until my skin wrinkled. I could shove aside the worries of the week past and the week to come, and let my mind flow with the music.

I have to admit that since having children, my hiding places have disappeared. It is rare indeed that I am ever alone. Even with Z-man’s new schedule, when I am seemingly alone, I am still in charge. Should someone need me, I have to be there and available. I can’t block out the world, or my worries, or the pressures that come with it. Sometimes, if the stars align just right, I can get close to that when I can run without the kids. But even then, I still have the dog, and must be aware of the world around me and the time that is passing. My only true escape right now exists in those few precious moments before I fall asleep. In those moments when my body and mind are shutting down for the night, the kids are usually asleep, the house is as clean as it is going to get, and no one is currently expecting action from me. During those moments, I can be whoever, wherever I want to be. I can drift where my mind would take me, or I can direct my thoughts toward a dream or longing that has been simmering behind reality. Some days, I find myself longing for bedtime just to have those moments to refresh my soul. Amidst wiping faces, sweeping floors, changing diapers, shuttling carpool, refereeing fights, and appeasing large personalities, I have to remind myself that those moments will come.

Some days I still consider locking myself in the bathroom. But I have to admit it’s much less effective with little fingers poking under the door and larger ones rattling the doorknob.

So I’d love to hear from all of you. Where do you hide—how do you revive your heart and soul and sense of self? Perhaps I can use one of your ideas as my own.