Lodge M’s absence / get the washing off the line before it rains / get quotes for new tyres / book in the blood test / order the 21st cake / clean up the cat spew / visit Nana / tidy the yard before the party / check and double check exam dates / take J for the follow-up surgeon’s appointment / lodge the insurance claim / drop off the bag of clothes to the op shop / schedule a walk / pay the yoga fees / RSVP to the 50th / find a costume D to borrow / suggest dates for Xmas catch-up / get the chicken out of the freezer.

Welcome to one hour inside my brain. A brain this full, and still, I pushed through.

Sometimes, when I ignore the warning signs, my body takes over. Have you ever started crying and found you couldn’t stop? For me, it’s the clearest sign of burnout.

Last month, I locked myself in the bedroom for an evening because I couldn’t hold it together for one more minute. The kids were worried. The husband brought me dinner and wine.

Strange how when the woman checks out, the world panics. So much of what we do is invisible. And unappreciated. Not because our families are ungrateful, but because it’s hard to be thankful for what you can’t see.

There is a lot going on inside my head. Between parenting four kids/young adults who don’t magically become independent the minute they turn 18, running two businesses (helping with my husband’s plus my freelance work), and that whole writing books thing I can’t seem to let go of, there is rarely a moment to sit still. But this is not a competition about who is busiest, it’s a warning about not slowing down.

Admittedly, it’s been a big year for me personally. I launched THAT DAY, a podcast about the moments that change women’s lives. Listening to women tell their hardest stories was an absolute joy and privilege. It also took significant emotional energy, particularly when I told my own story of childhood abuse.

By the middle of the year, I needed a break. My husband and I had the beautiful excuse of attending a wedding in Queensland, so we added a short stay, which was wonderful. But I still ran logistics at home, from afar, never quite checking out mentally.

Then one son needed surgery, followed by his brother two months later. Another was getting to the pointy end of Year 12. Throw in an 18th birthday, a driver’s licence test, a 21st, and a husband overseas for a conference, and capacity was reached.

Like so many women, I’ve become very good at pushing through. I get things done. I show up. I meet deadlines. I look after people. And somewhere along the way, I’ve started to believe that because I can manage all these things, I should. I put off my own plans because something else is more urgent. I tell myself I’ll rest when things settle down.

Hilarious! As if life is ever going to send a calendar invitation announcing that everything has been taken care of and I’m free to do as I please.

Work has been busy, too, with manuscript appraisals, writing mentees and workshops, which is wonderful. I love helping people make their stories stronger and wouldn’t give this up for the world.

And for that reason, I was in two minds about penning this essay, but my newsletter is called If I’m Honest...

I take my clients’ work seriously, and I want them to know they can trust me with their stories. I don’t want people to question my professional ability (or dependability!). Client work is the part of my week I protect, and I’ve built room into my bookings so it never pays for my overload.

What does give is my own writing.

All creatives know that art needs space. I preach this, I recommend other writers not only make room for it, but protect it as sacred. For me, it is time to stare out a window and wonder what a character might do next. Yet when life gets busy, my creative time is the first thing I sacrifice.

So, when will I learn my own lessons?

I guess it starts by admitting that I can love my family and still feel exhausted by family life. I can be grateful for work and opportunities and still need to schedule a break. I can know how fortunate I am and wish everyone would leave me alone for five minutes.

When I was crying in that bedroom, I wasn’t suddenly unhappy with my family or my work. I was exhausted by the life I was living, and I couldn’t see how to make it all fit. What happens when you reach a point where you don’t want to go back to the way things were?

Sometimes, when you’re completely depleted, escape starts to look like the only way to breathe. You fantasise about being somewhere nobody needs anything from you. Somewhere you aren’t the person who remembers, organises and fixes everything.

I wonder how many women have had that thought and immediately felt terrible for having it, or how often the desire for change begins with exhaustion, with the realisation that we can’t keep living at the same pace.

So, I’ve booked three nights away. By myself.

I used to think going away alone was weird and indulgent, especially when my children were young. What would I do? Would I feel guilty leaving everyone at home? (In fact, it was partly what inspired The Eleventh Floor!)

And yes, the fact that I can turn a break into a productivity problem tells me something.

I am determined to set no goals. If desire strikes, I’ll read a book (of my choice) that I don’t have to put down to answer a question from one of the kids. I’ll let my thoughts be just thoughts, not jobs on my to-do list. I might write. I might not. Maybe I’ll spend an afternoon gazing at the sea, transfixed by the waves.

*I love this account “Rewild your nerves” on* *Instagram*

I’ve promised myself I won’t worry about making better use of my time.

Even the things I know are good for me seem to need justification. A walk is healthy exercise. Reading is imperative because I’m a writer. Time alone might help me return to work and family refreshed.

What if it doesn’t have to be useful?

I don’t have a grand conclusion. I’m still the person who sees a list of jobs and thinks she can squeeze in a few more. Three nights away won’t magically change that, but I don’t want to wait until I’m crying in a locked bedroom before I acknowledge I need some time out.

I want to keep doing the work I love. I want to be there for my family. I want to write my books. And I want enough energy left to enjoy my own life.

I’ll start with time away and absolutely no list in sight.

I’ll let you know how I go.

If I’m honest… about burnout

If I’m honest about … resilience