Two weeks ago, my typical day started at 6am with a 20-minute jog around the streetlight lit bus routes. Then home to get myself and three littles breakfasted, dressed, and lunch-boxed up before the two campuses of school drop offs. A stretch the legs dog walk for little Betsie boo, second cup of coffee and big bowl of three types of cereal later, I opened my computer to start work, freelance journalism. At 2:55, I’d look at the clock and realise I had five minutes to get to the first afternoon school run, slip on my seven-year-old black boots from Marks, slam the computer and rush out the door. Forget to lock the door, then lock the door. One hour later, I’d boil pasta, pour over sauce, grated cheese and, voila – dinner. Football clubs, bath, bed, finish off work, watch the West Wing or Formula One, and fall into bed.
That was two weeks ago, and has more less been the weekday daily routine for the last two years. And I’m pretty sure it is similar to so many mothers I know.
I hate to say it, but I wore busyness as a badge of honour, proudly saying to people how life was so full. To be busy, with a full-to-the-brim work and life schedule, felt so good, even if suffocating at times. I felt needed and valued. I could look back on my day and think of all I had done, for myself, my work, and my family. It gave me validation, worth.
But yet another burnout breakdown forced me to really consider if I could carry on like this. With nightly nightmares, heavy chest, and constant overwhelm unless I had wine in hand, I made the choice to put the brakes on, indefinitely.
The choice to pull back from self-employment to look for employed work feeks like a massive defeat. I’ve built up a business in the last three years that looks fairly successful in an industry that seems to be dying, becoming increasingly competitive with every gasping breath.
Was career advancement worth poor mental health? It had been, but couldn’t be any longer. I had to come to grips with the fact I’m not superwoman – all my powers dwindling the harder I fought.
I thought I would spend my newly free time looking for jobs, then realised I have a month-long trip back to America booked in June, followed by a six-week school holiday. Not the best time to ask an employer to take me on, especially since I’d also be asking them to let me work part-time and do all the school runs.
I’ve stopped scrolling through Indeed, only taking on commissions from editors on stories I adore to bulk up our income a bit. The (only) reason I can do this is because after three years in university, my husband is working again, able to cover our expenses for the time being as we live in a relatively cheap part of the country.
On a scrap piece of paper, I listed out ideas of what I would do to fill my emptied days. Similar to the lists my mom used to make me during the summers. She’d leave for work around 7, and when I woke, there would be a sticky note with what I could do until she got home.
There are only three unchanging things on my present list.
Take Betsie. She really needs two walks a day, but only ever has one.
Practice the piano. I used to get piano lessons when I was a little girl. Forgot everything. So I’m using our boys’ piano books (which are rarely to never used by them) to teach myself the basics.
Write creatively. This mainly consists of a novel. I’m 5,000 words in and it isn’t going great, if you’re wondering.
A bit of a change from two weeks ago, when I barely had time to breathe. My busy badge of honour has been taken off for the time being.
The “come down” after being busy, whether by force or choice, feels a little bit like a very *very* minor withdraw. My brain and body have been conditioned (this is all very not technical, and I’d get told off my any medical professional) to be non-stop. When the brakes were slammed on, I felt I should still be moving, frustrated I no longer was.
A few days last week, I sat at the computer and can’t even tell you what I did – I was just trying to fill the time with something that looked like work, because that’s how uncomfortable it felt not to be busy. I wasn’t producing, wasn’t needed, wasn’t bringing in money, so of what worth was I?
I’m only now, after two full weeks, starting to ease into a different routine, after wasting several days complaining about how bored I was. (Insert here the guilt I felt about complaining about being bored, when other people are working relentlessly to put food on the table.)
The new transitionary routine (which won’t last forever) leaves room for uncomfortable dissection of values and worth, future goal setting, and stillness. It notices people in shops and raindrops on pavement. Walks rather than drives (our car broke down, so…). Experiments with writing words, rather than slapping them onto a keyboard with no forethought. It isn’t flashy, nothing to brag about.
“What did you do today,” someone asks on the school run.
“Well, not much actually,” is my reply.
As soon as I get used to this slow living, something will change. Older women tell me this often – how change is always around the corner. I’m certain life’s pace will once again pick up. But this time to briefly get off the hamster wheel has taught me, is teaching me, to deliberately pause and slow, whatever that might look like at different points in life, to breathe, wrestle thoughts, find community, notice, heal, and regroup. Although I want to be productive, and chase a life full of goodness, I don’t want to be busy, not like I was two weeks ago.
Hi Lauren
It sounds as though you have been working towards this period of change in your life even when your head refused to cooperate.
I know what you mean about feeling guilty and a bit lost when you step off the wheel of relentless production. I too am in that situation as I t struggle to cope with a recent bereavement.
One day. One moment at a time. And trusting the process.
I’m excited to discover your next transformation. Take good care of your beautiful self.