Many years ago, I spent most of my birthday walking alone by the sea after shouting at my husband, swearing like I had never sworn before, and leaving him at home with our one-year-old daughter. If someone had asked what happened, the shortest answer would have been that he asked me what we were having for lunch. It was a perfectly normal question. My reaction was not.
We had moved to a new town four or five months earlier, and I was still settling into our new life. My daughter needed a lot of reassurance when she was young, so much of my attention and energy went to her. I don’t say this to blame her; it was simply what she needed, and I was her mother. My days were filled with taking care of her, cooking, cleaning, and doing all the ordinary things that keep a home going. Nothing terrible was happening, which perhaps made it easier to believe that I had no reason to find any of it difficult.
My husband’s office was nearby, so he came home for lunch every day. He enjoyed eating at home and often told me that I cooked better than many restaurants. It was a lovely compliment, and most days I took it as one. But on that particular day, I didn’t need better food. I just wanted to be treated.
He had not forgotten my birthday. He simply did not realize that I was hoping the day might be a little different, and I had not told him either. I carried on as usual, quietly waiting for him to notice something I had never said. So when he came into the kitchen and asked, “What are we having for lunch?” all the tiredness I had been managing so well suddenly stopped being manageable.
I burst into tears and shouted, “It’s my birthday, and what you’re asking me is what I’m going to make for lunch?” Once I started, everything came out. I shouted, swore, and shook with anger while my poor husband stood there facing a reaction much bigger than the question he had asked. Then I took the car key, told him to take care of our daughter and leave me alone, and drove away.
By the time I reached the sea, lunch had disappeared from my thoughts and much bigger questions had taken its place. What was I doing with my life? Was this really what I wanted? For a while, I was ready to leave everything behind and go home to get my old life back. My husband called later to ask if I was all right and when I would return. I told him I would come back when I wanted to, hung up, and continued walking.
I eventually went home after dinner. We did not talk about what had happened immediately, and I no longer remember exactly what we said when we finally did. Life somehow continued, as family life usually does. Strangely, I remember the exhaustion and frustration much more clearly than I remember how we made peace afterward.
At the time, I believed I was coping because everything was still getting done. After all these years of marriage and family life, I know that getting things done and being okay are not always the same thing. I could not explain what was happening inside me that day. I only knew that one small question suddenly felt like one question too many.
Looking back, I think what I needed was not an answer to all those big questions I was asking myself by the sea. I probably just needed somewhere to put everything that had been building up before trying to understand it.
That is the idea behind When it’s all a bit much. It is a small, one-page guide for those moments when something happens and your reaction feels bigger than you expected. Not to analyse everything or fix it straight away, but simply to help you slow things down, notice what is going on inside you, and work out when you are ready.
Maybe you have had your own version of that moment. Something small happens, and your reaction feels too big even to you. You might feel angry, hurt, overwhelmed, or simply desperate to walk away without really knowing why. Sometimes the reason becomes clearer only after we have let out what has been building and found enough calm to look back.
If that moment comes, you can download the small guide here and keep it somewhere nearby. You may not need it today. But then again, that morning on my birthday, I thought I was fine too.
Leave a Reply