Okay folks, forgive me for I have sinned. I know that when I initially committed to this Tuesday Thoughts malarkey, I thought I’d have something ready every Tuesday morning, and that no matter what life threw at me, no matter how busy things got, that surely I would find an hour or two to jot down a few thoughts and keep a regular writing habit going. I mean, journalists and columnists do it all the time, and that’s what I aspire to define myself as one of these days. How hard could it be?!

Turns out, life has different plans. Firstly, the sprog went back to school and caught every bug and head cold going, scuppering her plans to get to June with perfect attendance. Then, I got caught up with this editing course I’m doing which is not difficult, but is certainly time consuming. After school activities and friends coming over to “hang out” (I don’t think they’re called playdates anymore when you’re a preteen), along with work and domestic obligations nearly left me for dead in September. Okay, I exaggerate slightly. But I was pretty bloody tired.

And then my beloved husband spent a week in the hospital, and I just thought, oh my God, I think I’m going to crumble now. A week of worrying, of not knowing what was wrong or where it would end. Don’t worry, reader, he is on the mend now. He’s picked up a ball that he can’t afford to drop: the ball of self-care. A ball that I’m not even sure I own.

I’ve always been useless at self-care. I don’t mean that New-Age stuff of spas and weekend breaks. I mean really basic things like sleeping, exercising and eating right. I am absolutely useless. My friends (I hope) will vouch for me: Give me your problems, no matter how big, and I will always find a solution for you. Even if it means putting myself out, I would rather do that than disappoint someone. It’s people pleasing to the highest degree. But it was only when my beloved was in hospital that I realised how unhealthy this is.

In the past, I have suffered in silence rather than said no to something. I’ve agreed to some ludicrous things that I wouldn’t agree to now. I’m so willing to please that it’s sickening. To some degree, it’s because I consider myself a Christian, and it is the Christian thing to help people who need it. But it’s only recently that I’ve come to truly understand the meaning of “you can’t pour from an empty cup.”

And so, while my husband recuperated in hospital, I took my foot off the gas for a little while. Rather than succumbing to a mini nervous breakdown as I might have done in the past, I pressed pause on coursework and work. I did as much housework as I could manage, but no more. I went to bed at 9.30 every night with my daughter. I didn’t blog. I didn’t even attend my online writing group, which I have always moved around my plans so I could attend. The dogs weren’t walked every day – in fact, they were only walked once in the week JP was in hospital. I didn’t write. I watched Netflix and listened to podcasts. And while I felt awful about it, I also had a revelation as I watched those proverbial balls drop:

If I drop, none of this stuff will be done anyway. None of it will really matter, if I’m not here.

Now, this is obvious to most people, but applying it to real life is easier said than done. After all, we live in a society where productivity is a measured of one’s worth, and burnout is seen as a prestigious accolade. In addition, we live in a wretchedly connected world where it’s normal to send and receive work emails on a Sunday evening. Messages must be answered straightaway. A quick text is less time consuming than a phone call. It leaves more time to do all the stuff we perceive to be important.

And it occurred to me, only I can truly define what “important” means. I thought to myself, if I drop dead in the morning, will they mention my Marie Kondo folding technique in my eulogy? My ironing skills? That I’m a dab hand with a Shark? (the hoover, not the man-eating, ocean dwelling mammal). I said to hell with all this, and snuggled up with my preteen in bed and watched Derry Girls.

The patient is home, and we’re all hoping for a smooth recovery. Hopefully, as things settle down, I will be more productive. I might even start writing my novel again. Maybe not today though, and I’m learning to be okay with that.