I Went On a Revenge Holiday and Yes, I’m That Petty

Feeling the weight of the load at home? Why it's time to ditch the naggy texts and head to Trip Advisor instead..

This year started off with such promise, but as with every turn of the calendar of late, 2022 has not *quite* fulfilled its potential. I’ve said euphemistically that it hasn’t been the best vintage; more truthfully, it’s felt like a relentless boot to the face with very little let up. Now, I can’t really characterise it as a full-scale implosion (my last of this kind was 2013 – the trifecta of divorce, partial redundancy, and loss of my friendship group), instead it’s more been the drip drip drip of daily frustrations and setbacks. We all know life isn’t one slide towards fortune and happiness and family and love encompasses sacrifice. But also, Jesus Christ, gimme a break.

When I drill it down, beyond the sadnesses and losses that have come my way this year, I’ve realised that one of the hardest new challenges I’ve encountered has been supporting my partner’s rocket ship of a new business. It feels unwifely to complain (fortunate, perhaps, that I’m not married), but I’ve found the new dynamic really tough. It’s shifted our family life far more significantly than I had anticipated and had a far bigger impact on my own work and personal freedoms. Having been the breadwinner for nearly nine years, there’s also a slight feeling of demotion and I’ve found the additional childcare and domestic responsibilities that have appeared overnight—without much discussion—overwhelming. Before I whinge any further, I want to say that without qualification, I’m incredibly proud of my other half for everything that he is achieving and understand that it’s hopefully going to pay off one day for the whole family. It is epic, he is epic, I’m his number one cheerleader etc etc. And yet. Understanding where to pick the battles is part of any long-term relationship, but as the personal is political and I hear the red siren of traditional gender roles at full volume right now, I do think this is a hill worth having at least a moderate collapse on.

The scenario I’m in goes to prove that just because you set things up to raise a family in one mould, you can’t rely on it staying fixed. What you sign up to may not be anything close to what you end up living. I know I am absolutely the architect of some of my predicament, because I’ve delivered professionally while simultaneously caring, something which so many freelance parents (mostly mothers) will recognise. Writing books during the naps and nights is potty, but the precedent has been set. And in a story that every parent who has been able to WFH will recognise, I’ve also found so much of the load is geographical as much as anything else. Presence is often 85% of responsibility and if you just happen to ‘be there’ because it’s where you work, you’re going to left holding the babies. And the washing basket. And the pesto jar. 

Pre-sprogs, it was always me who travelled for work. Often for the launch of a candle. Or a small luggage collection, say. If I’m wildly honest, I’d take any trip. But now my partner is often overseas, flying to far-away lands for business with a side of pleasure, for days on end and I haven’t taken the adjustment to solo parenting particularly well. This summer, when he had to drop everything on our extended family holiday and head to Sydney for 10 days, my initial response was obviously to scream into my pillow. I’d only just recovered from two back-to-back New York trips, during one of which, both the kids had raging colds. But after taking a little breath and stock of everything that had come before, I decided that it was a moment to try a new approach.

On this occasion, instead of recounting minute by minute the minutiae of clusterfucks I was dealing with at home via multiple channels (Whatsapp, text, email, even Facebook at one point), I was going to try and stop venting. On reflection, I concluded that this kind of offloading ends up being toxic for everyone, probably most of all for me. While it might momentarily make you feel you’re sharing the burden, often as the person at the other end of the message literally cannot help, you find yourself spinning deeper into resentment and rage. Sometimes I confess, I haven’t been able to go high and be the bigger person, and it has led to some disharmonious energy in our relationship to put it mildly. I decided it wasn’t worth it.

(My girlfriend Ashley, and I mid-revenge)

But just to be clear, I’m not saying I planned to take it on the chin. While I’m capable of looking after my children on my own and earning money at the same time (having had the ultimate role model in my mum who was a single parent, working full-time), I don’t believe an equal financial partner should be left to cope with lop-sided parental responsibilities simply because they are female and have a more flexible profession (why should I be writing at 1am because my office never closes?). Instead of finding myself spilling about it at every dinner I go to (with minimum four other mentally bankrupt woman in the same boat) or going over old ground with my partner, I decided to make myself a tally. I now have a page in my diary where I count each and every day I’m left alone, and I see them as IOUs. Whenever an offer for a work trip comes up, or a friend asks me to do an overnighter, I will turn to said page and use it to assuage me of any guilt at saying, ‘yes please.’ As the number of lines had stacked up so impressively this year, I judged it was actually time for a fuck-off holiday. The kind of holiday I didn’t think I was going to go on again—beachy, with a girlfriend, for a whole working week.

Aside from the obvious appeal of taking a pause on my own life, it was important, imho, for the whole family. The boys needed to see their dad managing work and their care and their dad needed to be reminded what that was like. I didn’t Facetime them; I filled my well and found space to reassess some of my boundaries. I returned to find everyone still alive. I know that we are all different and for some mums, the idea of leaving their family is too dislocating. For others, the traditional role is what they feel most comfortable with and that’s wonderful. But for those who are starting out on building these family dynamics and looking for a level of equity or feeling that they’re losing their footing when it comes to parental balance, may I please point to the revenge holiday. If finances are stretched, why not stay over at a girlfriend’s for a few days and book a nice dinner or gallery show?  If you are in the fortunate position to be able to afford a stay away from home, pool some resources (I eBayed the first two expensive handbags I’d every bought) and get that spa treatment. They key is being physically away from the shitshow for enough time to somewhat forgot what it is actually like. It is incredibly easy for a year to go by and not have considered yourself. It is also incredibly easy for weeks of solo parenting to tot up, without really realising quite how much time you’ve been carrying things alone. The impact of the extra responsibility can seep into everything, tendril-like wrapping itself around you while creating resentment and fatigue in a way you can’t even see to fight. So, book that break, serve the dish cold, and do something great for both you and your relationship.

(Today marks the beginning of 10 more days solo parenting. I’ve re-set my browser to open at Mr & Mrs Smith 🤣)