It’s five o’clock in the evening. The sun is doing its best impression of a professional Instagrammer, slowly sinking toward the horizon. I’m sitting at a little table, drinking a Coke zero, watching the water, and for the first time in six months, there is… peace. Real peace. None of that “where’s my homework?” or “did I remember the school lunch?” chaos. Just me. And a fizzy drink. Living my best life.
After I booked this trip, I stumbled across a podcast by Brenda Dennehy, who was chilling in Tenerife, talking about taking a bit of time for yourself. Not to escape life — although let’s be honest, that part was very appealing — but to reflect, reset, and practice self-care without feeling guilty. It wasn’t a random listen. It was exactly the kind of reminder I needed to stop living like a walking to-do list.
And now, sitting here, it all clicks.
Peace, But Make It Hilarious
Being away has stripped life back to basics:
- I wake when I want to
- I eat when I want to (yes, breakfast for lunch is a valid meal).
- I move when it’s time to move (or when the snack cart passes by — priorities).
No school runs. No training schedules. No “Mum, where’s my other sock?” interruptions. My attention is finally just… me.
And it’s funny how something so simple feels revolutionary. Ordering food and not liking it? That’s my tough luck. No one else is affected. I didn’t even have to pretend to enjoy it. Spoiler: it was just fish. Dry. Sad. But still, my decision. Tiny victory.
Of course, the universe couldn’t let me have perfect peace for long. On day two, my daughter woke with a headache and didn’t go to school. I like to think it was a quiet protest — “Really, Mum? Gone again?!” — though it could have been a coincidence. Either way, my heart tugged.
And then I found it. The emotional mic-drop of this trip: a scrap of tissue in my journal with a message written by my fab daughter:
“Mum, I miss you.”
Yep. This trip isn’t about leaving my family. It’s about finding my way back to myself — so I can return stronger, steadier, and maybe slightly less dramatic (we’ll see).
Rehab: The Not-So-Funny Part
Here’s the funny part about rehab: it’s brutal. Three sessions a day, done before meals. No excuses. And yet somehow, I’ve been pushing myself harder than I ever would at home. Why? Because home has distractions: emails, noise, children, snacks (so many snacks). Here, it’s just me, my body, and the occasional dramatic sigh.
And let me tell you — after two days, I’ve discovered muscles I didn’t even know existed. Some of them are angry at me. Some of them are plotting revenge. But that’s fine. We’ll negotiate later.
I know this will improve me. That’s why I came. And also, slightly, because I like telling people I’m “recovering” — sounds fancy.
Returning — But Not Broken
I want to go back to work. I miss it. But I refuse to limp back half-healed.
That wasn’t stubbornness. That was self-respect… and maybe a little drama for effect.
Becoming Me Again — With a Splash of Humor
This trip is about becoming more like the old me — but wiser, less tense, and possibly more prone to Coke-fueled reflections. Injuries and life change you. Pretending otherwise is exhausting.
I want to return with:
- Better boundaries (no, I can’t solve every problem today)
- Better self-care (yes, that includes real sleep)
- Better awareness of when I’m stretching myself too thin (hello, snacks before bedtime)
Right now, as the sun sets and the water glimmers in front of me, I realise this:
This isn’t time away. This is recovery with a side of perspective and a fizzy drink.
If it gets me closer to a light jog…
Closer to work…
Closer to myself…
Then this is exactly where I’m meant to be.
And honestly? I’ll take the peace. And the Coke zero. And maybe the dry fish, too.
