Our time will come, right?
These words I wrote to a friend last week who, like me, has four children and who — also like me — has given the best part of her last two decades to raise said children.
We were chatting about restless feet, eager to get out and explore unknown lands, yet still mired in family responsibility.
Watch: Be a good mum. Post continues below.
The words were said with light-hearted flippancy, leaving me brilliantly unprepared for the outburst of tears that followed.
Whoa, I thought. Where the hell did that come from?!
Outside, wisteria leaves danced without sound onto pavers below; I watched their display and tried to make sense of this feeling of being bitch-slapped by a torrent of emotion I didn’t know existed in me.
I cried. Wailed. Sobbed. Then allowed myself to lean into this moment of irrational sensibilities until finally, I was able to grasp the feeling behind it.