I was sitting on the floor of our lounge room when he found me. I’d been caring for our three children for months. Sometimes I looked after my nephew as well. But I was struggling, big time. And I didn’t realise how bad it had gotten until that day.
I felt completely wiped out. I had run out of whatever it took for the human body to function. My husband rushed over to me and asked me what was wrong. “Nothing,” I answered. “I’m really happy, I just can’t seem to move at the moment. I’ll get up in a sec.”
After peeling me off the floor he took me to the doctor. I felt ill, but I wasn’t. I felt like I was lacking in some crucial vitamin, but blood tests showed I wasn’t. I wasn’t depressed, I wasn’t any more sleep deprived than any other new mum. What on earth was going on?
Then the doctor asked me a question.
Do you get any time for you?
I almost laughed in his face. I had three children, two of whom were only 16 months apart. Our finances were in tatters after my husband’s business collapsed. We’d just moved to a new home and new suburb. Our dog was ill. Our fridge was on the blink.
Driving home my husband said the same thing. “You have to have some time for you.” I knew they were right. But when would I find the time? What would I replace? Who would look after the kids? What would happen once I entered my quest to discover ‘me’ time?