'I chose myself over my child for six days straight. It was the most rewarding thing I've done.'

I still remember the first time I left my daughter for a trip without her. She was two and a half, and I was about to fall apart.

I'd been awake every two hours for the first year of her life. All night, every night. I was running a company, living on pure adrenaline, and sleeping in had become such a distant memory it felt like a myth.

I was in a volatile relationship, barely holding it together, when one day I literally just took off. I drove twelve hours to my grandparents' house – they were no longer with us, but the property was empty, and it was a place that had always been my safe haven. For six days straight, I slept for eighteen hours a day.

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It was one of the most incredibly rewarding things I've ever done. Not because I was escaping my daughter, but because I was reclaiming myself.

And here's the kicker: my daughter was completely fine at home with her dad.

The martyr complex we don't talk about enough.

So many mothers do this thing where we become martyrs. We say, "I'm okay, I'm okay", while giving every last drop of ourselves to everyone else. We wear our exhaustion like a badge of honour, as if suffering somehow makes us better parents. But here's the truth nobody wants to say out loud: it doesn't work that way.

When our cup is empty and depleted, we don't give the best versions of ourselves to others. We give the dregs. The tired, resentful, burnt out version that snaps over the dog barking, and we can't remember the last time we laughed properly. Is that really what we want to model for our kids?

I needed to recognise that filling my own cup wasn't selfish, it was necessary. And that one trip sparked an annual tradition for me, a practice of going away to do things that fill my own cup.

Remembering who I was before 'mum' became my first name.

One of my most memorable solo trips was when my daughter was six. I went to Cambodia on my own for three weeks and became a backpacker, an adventurer again. I remember sitting in a tuk-tuk at 4am, driving through the dark to watch the sunrise over ancient Cambodian temples.

At that moment, watching the sky turn pink and gold over Angkor Wat, I remembered who I was.

I remembered what drove me before I had kids. I dreamt about what I wanted in life and recognised that I needed to retain a sense of adventure for myself. Otherwise, there was a part of me that shrivelled up and died. And then I wasn't my best version of showing my kids how to live a full life either.

My annual ritual of selfish self-care.

I've maintained that practice ever since. Every year, I try to have a week or two completely on my own. Usually, it's in Bali. And while I'm there I am completely, selfishly focused on doing things for myself.

Lisa on one of her annual solo trips. Image: Supplied.

I have massages every day. I have facials. I eat whatever I want, sleep whenever I want. Nobody asks me to be anything or do anything. For a whole week each year, that's the most delicious thing I do. No school runs, no packed lunches, no, "mum, where's my..." or "mum, can you..." Just me, my thoughts and the sound of waves.

Is it selfish? Let's reframe that!

The question always comes: 'isn't it selfish?' And my answer is an emphatic, 'no'. Because when I come home, I'm a better mum. I'm more capable of being the person I'm meant to be. I'm not a tired, empty, going-through-the-motions version of myself. I'm present. I'm patient. I'm playful again.

That makes for a much happier human. And therefore, I'm teaching my daughter values as well — values about how to value herself, how not to lose her own courage and bravery and sense of adventure as she grows throughout her life.

The lessons we're really teaching.

Because here's what we don't talk about enough: our children are watching. They're watching how we treat ourselves. They're learning what it means to be a woman, a mother and a person from how we live our lives. If we teach them that motherhood means self-sacrifice to the point of self-erasure, what are we really preparing them for?

Life is not a Walt Disney fairytale. There is no prince that comes along and takes you away on his white unicorn. Instead, life is full of ups and downs, highs and lows, and challenges. It's actually our job to fill our cups up so that we can continue to fill the cups of others. And that isn't selfish, it's actually the definition of selfless, in my opinion.

You don't need Bali to make this happen.

I know what you're thinking: this sounds privileged. International trips, weeks in Bali, massages every day. And you're right, it is. But here's what I've learnt: the destination isn't what matters. The permission to prioritise yourself is.

You don't need to go overseas. You could stay with a childless friend or relative who'd love the company. Book a cheap hotel during a sale and have a staycation in your own city. Go camping for a weekend, even if it's just in a national park an hour away. Lock yourself in a mate's spare room for two days with nothing but books and takeaway.

The point isn't the luxury. It's space. It's permission to be just you for a moment, not "mum" or "partner" or any other role you've taken on. Even 48 hours of that can be transformative.

The permission slip you don't need (but I'm giving you, anyway).

So if you're reading this while running on fumes, if you can't remember the last time you did something just for you, if the idea of a solo trip sounds impossible or indulgent or terrifying, then this is your permission slip. Not that you need one, but sometimes it helps to hear it from someone else.

You are allowed to take up space. You are allowed to have needs. You are allowed to miss your children and also desperately need a break from them. Those things can coexist.

The best self-care for mums is a solo trip. Image: Supplied.

And when you come back — and you will come back — you'll bring with you something far more valuable than guilt. You'll bring back vitality, perspective and a reminder that you are more than just "mum." You're a whole person with dreams and desires and a right to adventure.

That's the gift I give myself every year. And that's the gift I'm ultimately giving my daughter too.

Lisa Jones is an Australian-based entrepreneur and single mother to a teenager. She shares her parenting, weight loss and entrepreneurial journey on Instagram @lisajones_co. 

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Feature image: Supplied.