No, you cannot be sick

I think about my own mum. Three jobs. Four children to raise. Up at five every morning, Monday to Friday, for forty years. Through heatwaves and freezing temperatures. Even when she was ill, she wouldn’t let herself take a sick day. Growing up, I saw her get on with it. Becoming a mother myself made me understand what that must have cost her. During my third pregnancy, I was also studying for an MBA online and working freelance. Taking a day off meant not getting paid. Thank God, my pregnancy was healthy, and I was able to work until a week before giving birth. Then my baby arrived, and the rest of my life kept going. I was recovering from childbirth, dealing with the usual postpartum bleeding and afterpains, breastfeeding, studying for my MBA, and looking for my next role. I had a tiny newborn to care for, but there was always an assignment to finish or a job to apply for. When I look back, I don’t remember having much time to simply enjoy being with my baby. I was there, feeding and caring for him, but my mind was often on what I needed to do next. That makes me sad. I know why I kept going. I needed to earn money, finish what I’d started, and think about our future. But I wish I’d had more time to recover and get to know my baby without feeling that I was falling behind somewhere else. I’ve promised myself that if I ever have another child, I’ll take at least a year away from work to look after my family—and give myself time to be part of it properly. Because they’re the reason I get up and keep going every day. I want to have some energy left to enjoy being with them too. And I want to relax. Sometimes I just want to sit down without using that moment to get something else done. I tell my husband that if I’m awake, I’m almost always doing something. At home, it’s usually at least two things at once. While I’m working, I’ll put a wash on and start the dishwasher. During my break, I’ll go to the shops. Even a break has a job to do. Between work calls, I’ll write some code for my app or try to work out a new idea. Give me ten spare minutes, and I’ll find a way to fill them. People I’ve met since arriving in New York in February have noticed it too. “You always seem busy.” They’re right. And hearing it from people who’ve only recently met me makes me realise how normal it’s become to me. I’m beginning to wonder whether I even remember how to rest without feeling that I should be doing something else.