The decision had been made, but I was still unsettled. I had changed my mind so much about it that once I had made that final decision I convinced myself, again, it was the wrong one. My family became different, almost distant like they belonged to another person, another mother, wife. The more I thought about the day I would leave, the more desirable my family became. I wanted to be with them, spend time with them, hold them constantly. I am not sure I had experienced these feelings of desperation for closeness with my family. Not that I was feeling the opposite. But family life prior to this had become much more task orientated than I would have ever admitted, and days had become sluggish.

I hadn’t meant to take so long away from them. In fact, I hadn’t meant to leave them at all. I originally booked my 1-year-old with me, while trying desperately to figure out how to also take my 4-year-old as well. The best children’s attractions were being researched, and I was searching and shopping daily for new entertainment to keep them both amused while on the flight. But taking two young boys on a 24-hour flight to the other side of the world is no small feat. And I was planning to do this on my own, leaving my husband and his work commitments behind for two weeks. Nannies were urgently required. Somehow finding one, in a country I wasn’t currently living in, for two children that the boys would like, no love, for two weeks while I worked a few hours each day. That was when it dawned on me. WHAT AM I DOING??

My 1-year-old, Chipmunk brings me so much joy. He is such a delight and often makes me laugh so hard when I least expect it. He has never left my side since he was born and he is definitely a Mummas boy through and through. I haven’t ever left him with anyone. I have tried. But he cries. He cries and he cries, and then when I return he clings to me as if we are about to sink into the depths of a large, hungry ocean. My four year old would be much more understanding of a strange person coming to take him away from his mummy in a foreign country. But combine that with jetlag and the absence of, well everything familiar… I may walk into disaster and return home with my tail between my legs.

So here I was, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Go with my kids and potentially face a breakdown. Or leave them with my husband and face guilt, heavy, bare-faced, rock bottom guilt. Surely facing my own self-built wall of failure as a mother and human being was much worse than the alternative? But, somehow, I managed to lift my head out of my own self-loathing and listen to my husband, who was telling me it would be alright, and my friends, who were telling me I was crazy if I did anything else. So I decided that was it. That was what I was doing, and as soon as I ever felt the guilt rise up to say hello, I was going to do only what a Mumma knew how. I was going to buy toys. So many toys. I was going to have to sit on my suitcase to close it before that journey home for the sake of all those toys.

So here I am, sitting peacefully at the table eating my breakfast while casually writing on my laptop. I am, alone, and have been for almost two weeks. Not alone, as in stranded on a desert island with no one to speak to. Oh no, I was in London where you are never alone. But my family, my boys, were not by my side. There was no one pulling at my sleeve for attention or begging for mouthfuls of my cereal every time my spoon launched towards the bowl. Just me. I missed that tug on my arm. I longed for a cuddle from those little arms. But I would be with them all soon enough, more alive and aware than I had been in years.

So, what’s the secret? I am convinced every Mumma needs a break from being a cook, cleaner, councillor, mediator, event organiser, and taxi driver. But I would never have been able to even fathom this was possible without support. Not everyone is going to be able to go away for two weeks, or even a night. But whatever support you have out there, utilise it. Friends and family are supposed to be there for each other. When did we start isolating ourselves from the emotion to feel need or help? I want to be able to help my friends and family, much more than I am now. But I can only do that if they allow me into their vulnerability. So, lesson learnt, I hope. I’m trying to be more open with where I am at, because only with the help of others am I going to be the best mum I can be.