the likely reasons:
Did he have a speeding fine he didn't want me to know about?
Was there a boys' trip coming up he wanted brownie points for?
What time were the Eels (his favourite footy team) playing this weekend? Did he want me out of the house when they were on??
I didn't ask but looked at him quizzically and, perhaps sensing what he'd said just wasn't registering in my head, Darren repeated his sentiment. ‘Do whatever you need to do. Just get away for a bit. Why don't you have the day to yourself tomorrow to do whatever you want? We'll be okay.'
Then, God love him, he did give me a hug and a kiss, and walked into the house where the kids were no doubt already causing untold carnage. (They had to be – we hadn't heard a peep from them, which any parent knows is a sure-fire sign of impending disaster.)
For what seemed like an eternity, I stood rooted to the same place in the driveway, Daz's words echoing in my head.
Just get away. Have a day to yourself. Do whatever you want.
I knew there was only one place I wanted to go: Byron Bay. Byron is a stunning coastal town in north-east New South Wales, about 40 minutes' drive from where we lived. For as long as I can remember, it has always held a strong place in my heart. It was where we used to go as kids and, as I grew older, my mum and I used to go for walks along the beach there – long walks; even longer talks. Using Mum's favourite word, those beaches, that place; it's … special.
For me, the calming presence that was Byron had been a part of my upbringing. Only in later years would I come to realise the area carries a deeper mystery – and not just the hippie/boho business it is often associated with these days, but also something more ancient and spiritual. The traditional custodians of the Byron area, the Indigenous Arakwal people, have known for thousands of years that Byron was a place of healing. At that moment on my driveway, I needed healing, and not just for a cut or scratch, but for something deeper and more visceral than that.
While the decision about where to go was easy, however, the decision to actually go was harder.
When Darren said, ‘Why don't you have the day to yourself?' half of me was going, ‘Yeah, baby! See … you … later!' and the other half was screaming, ‘Are you serious? I can't just up and go, that kinda thing's gotta be planned, I've got things to do, I don't deserve it, just suck it up princess!'
It's safe to say my pillow endured a lot of tossing and turning that night as I wrest the decision from one point to the next. Despite all my angst about going, I got up early the following morning (before I could talk myself out of it), packed my bag and drove down the Pacific Highway from our home on the Gold Coast to the golden beaches of Australia's eastern-most point.
About fifteen minutes into the drive, along a stretch of the Pacific Highway that cuts through the sugar cane fields with the majestic Mount Warning on the horizon, a tunnel comes up just after the small township of Chinderah. Now you might be thinking, How does she recall a goddamn tunnel? Who is this chick, a female version of ‘Rain Man'? Trust me, when you have two little kids, and there are very few tunnels around, you know exactly where they are.
As I was driving through that tunnel, I paid attention to just how noisy my head had been for the entire trip. Here's just a taste of what was running through my head:
Who do you think you are?!
You don't have enough money for this.
You still have to lose that last 5 kilograms before you go.
Why did you leave the house in a mess like that?
The kids need a haircut. You can't even sort out your family when you're home, what use are you being away?
Who do you think you are??!!
It was horrible. Not the house or the family – they were fine – but, rather, the way I was treating myself. That was the only awful thing going on. Here I was, beating myself up for even going. I was experiencing every flavour of guilt, including the worst flavour – parental guilt. I mean, seriously – who just gets up one morning and leaves their young kids to go off and do their own thing? This was the kind of self-deprecating angst I was putting myself through.
Thankfully, as I drove out of that tunnel I thought, This is ridiculous and I gave myself a pep talk that even Tony Robbins would have been proud of. And yep, I did it out loud, in the car, on my own:
Alison, you're doing it. There's no point debating whether it's a good idea. You're in the car driving … just be okay with that.
Then I did what all good-intended, guilt-ridden, busy people do. I started negotiating with myself:
Right, well; it's 8 am now. I'll be in Byron by 8.30 am. I'll do a perfect parallel park outside the local bookstore before I grab an insightful book, a journal and the perfect pen. Then I'll stroll past the shops down to the beach where I'll sit reflectively in lotus pose and contemplate. My big epiphany and ‘A-ha!' moment will happen precisely at 11.15 am and what I need to do to get sorted will be clear. Then I'll drive home to tell Darren how successful I've been in pulling myself together, getting back in time to bring in the washing and make the kids dinner.
Seriously!! I couldn't even have a day off to relax without planning it with military precision! Arrggghhh. Enough.
Walking out the door of my house wasn't easy, but what faced me right then was something monumentally harder. On that drive to Byron Bay – in that moment – I hadn't realised that I was going to discover the true reason for my dispirited, downtrodden soul. It wasn't my life. It wasn't the kids, work or even the friggin Kardashians.
It was me.
Bam. Ouch.
I was my biggest barrier. I'd been worried about the kids, the house, the business, if my cycle was aligned with the moon's … but I'd never thought about whether I could be the problem. So I made a decision right there. No more blame placed on everything else. This was just me here. The kids were okay and Darren was okay; it was just me. And if I wanted better, it started with treating myself better.
I made a pact with myself. I would do whatever I wanted when I got to Byron. No plans, no lists, no mental progress chart. I'd lie on the beach if I wanted to. I'd get a massage if I wanted to. Hell, I'd eat as much over-priced organic food as I wanted to.
And that's what I did. I walked on the beach. I swam. I listened to music but, mostly, I just listened to me. While the letting go was hard, the recuperation was bliss. And you know what else I did? I rang Darren in the afternoon and told him I wanted to stay and that I'd booked a motel for the night.
His reply? ‘No worries.'
For a split-second I got anxious again. His response was far too nonchalant for my liking. But I realised that was just the fear part of my brain. Of course, it'd be okay. And so I stayed the night. Slept. Ate. Walked. Swam. Repeat.
And this food for my soul was divine – and it was over in a blink.
Truthfully, when I arrived home after this time away – this brief opt-out – I was wondering what I'd be walking back into. Will I see my kids drowning in piles of washing similar to when they are in the ball pit at Ikea? Will every single dish we own be piled dangerously high in the sink? Will my husband be curled up in a corner gently sobbing??
I pulled up in the driveway (the scene of my meltdown only 48 hours earlier), opened the door to the house, and … Nothing. Everything was completely fine! And not ‘fine' like ‘woman fine', like actually fine. The kids were happy, hubby gave me a kiss, and I even found a clean cup for an organic sleepy-time tea (which a sleepy looking hippy in Byron talked me into buying). Everything was – well, like, totally fine.
And there lay more clarity for me. The world genuinely didn't care what I thought, said or did. It just kept on keeping on. It never asked for permission. My choice on how I interacted with my world is my choice.
So there it was. I'd had to confront two blinding realities in the space of two days. First, I was my own biggest hurdle to happiness (ouch) and, second, I – and no-one else – held the keys to finding my