“I look in the mirror, and I don’t even recognise myself. My body isn’t mine anymore, it’s this weird in-between thing that still looks pregnant but isn’t. My hair is greasy and falling out, my skin is breaking out because my diet is 90% caffeine and bourbon biscuits. I don’t get to meet my own needs because there is never time. I don’t read books. I don’t exercise. I don’t even know what I enjoy anymore. Hannah asked me the other day what brings me joy, and I just...” I choke on a sob. “I just burst into tears. Because I don’t know.”
Dan stays quiet, watching me with wide, stunned eyes.
“I don’t even feel like you’re attracted to me anymore. I mean, who would be? I’m a mess! But even when I do try and put a bit of effort into my appearance, it’s like you don’t even notice.”
I look down, my lips trembling.
“I feel lonely all the time,” I whisper. “My mum friends are just as busy as I am, so we never see each other. And Hannah is still living, going on last-minute trips, going out at weekends, doing all the things I can’t do. And I don’t begrudge her for it, but it’s a reminder of how much my life has changed. And I just feel so resentful all the time. At you. At the kids. At myself.”
I let out a bitter laugh through the tears. “And I hate it, Dan. I hate that I feel like this. I hate that I’m angry all the time. I hate that I snap at you over stupid little things, like you leaving a wet towel on the bed or taking too long in the loo, when really, it’s just because I feel like your life hasn’t changed nearly as much as mine has. You still have your job. You still have you. And I just feel like I’ve lost everything.”
My whole body is shaking now, the weight of it all crushing down on me. I bury my face in my hands, sobbing.
And then I feel movement.
Dan stands up, walks around the table, and kneels beside my chair. He doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arms around me, holding me tightly. His own breathing is shaky, and when she glances up, she sees his eyes are glassy with unshed tears.
“I had no idea,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “Emma, I...” He stops, swallows hard, then tightens his hold on me. “I’m so sorry.”
I melt into him, closing my eyes, the tension in my body finally releasing. For the first time in a long time, I feel seen.
I let out a shaky breath, wiping at my face, but the words just keep tumbling out.
“And do you know what else?” I say, my voice cracking. “Some days, I hold in a wee for hours because there’s just too much to do. I’ll be halfway through sorting the washing or replying to a school email or wrestling Ruby into a coat, and I’ll think, ‘I really need the loo,’ but then something else comes up, and before I know it, it’s been three hours, and I’m basically doing a weird little jig in the kitchen trying not to wet myself.”
Dan lets out a breathy laugh through his nose, but I shake my head.
“No, because it’s actually ridiculous. Meanwhile, you can just waltz off and take a leisurely 45-minute toilet break, probably watching YouTube videos, without a care in the world! And the worst part is, I’m not even mad that you do it, I’m mad that I can’t.”
Dan looks like he wants to argue but thinks better of it.
I sniff, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. “And I’m just so touched out all the time. Between the kids climbing on me, Ruby using me as a human climbing frame, the constant grabbing, the clinging, the sticky little hands pulling at my clothes, I get to the end of the day and the last thing I want is anyone else touching me. Even you.” I hesitate before admitting,“And that makes me feel awful. Because I love you, but some days, the thought of you even coming near me gives me the absolute ick. Not because of you, but because I just have nothing left to give.”
Dan stays silent, his brows furrowed.
“And some days,” I continue, my voice quieter now, “I don’t even brush my teeth. Because I’m prioritising everyone else’s needs over my own. I’ll make the kids’ breakfast, pack the lunches, make sure everyone is dressed, get them all out the door… and then I’ll realise at midday that I’ve not even eaten or drunk anything, let alone brushed my damn teeth.”
Dan shifts beside me, guilt creeping into his expression.
“I’m just so burnt out, Dan. The school stuff alone is enough to break a person. The £1 coins for charity days, the reading logs, the dress-up days, the random projects they give you a week’s notice for. It’s just constant. And when I inevitably forget something, I feel like the worst mum in the world. Like the time I forgot it was World Book Day and had to send Oscar in wearing normal clothes and tell him he was ‘an extra from Harry Potter.’”
Dan lets out a soft chuckle, but his eyes are still glassy.
I swallow hard. “I just feel like I’m failing at everything; as a mum, as a wife, as a person. And I don’t know how to fix it.”
My voice breaks on the last word, and before I can stop myself, fresh tears roll down my face. Dan reaches for my hand and squeezes it, his own eyes welling up.
“I hear you,” he says, his voice thick. “And I am so sorry”
I sit there, feeling hollow, like I’ve just emptied everything out of me and there’s nothing left. The words I’ve been holding in for so long are finally out in the open, hanging between us, raw and exposed. And now, there’s just silence.
Dan is staring at me, his eyes red-rimmed, his jaw tight. He looks, God, he looks broken. Like I’ve just told him somethinghe never saw coming. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe I’ve been so good at pretending that he really thought I was happy.
"Emma… I had no idea."
His voice is thick, uneven, and it makes my chest ache. I want to tell him that it’s okay, that I’ll figure it out, that we don’t have to do this. But I’m too tired to lie anymore.
"I thought you were happy," he says, shaking his head. "I thought working from home was what you wanted, that it made things easier for you. I didn’t realise, God, I didn’t realise how much you were struggling."
