I’ve always hated holidays. They turn your hard gained routine upside-down.
A few days in a frenzy, a whole day packing, a half day travelling, three days at the seaside, stressing about the children, a half day packing and half day returning home, a week with the homeless suitcases and out-of-the-system laundry.
No blogging but so much to say.
On the way home from the seaside, the children fastened in their seats, sleeping, my husband driving. The time to relax. Aucee calling. Can one have a minute in peace?
This time, intrusive thoughts came slowly. The four of us on a boat, nice and cosy on the sea. Then crash, we are in the water. My husband takes our son, I take our daughter on our backs. So far so good. Then, because it looked as though we would safely and calmly reach the shore, I needed to turn on my back so my daughter would be under water. Was the journey too uneventful or what?
I associate this OCD appearance with the heightened level of stress over the last days, the lack of control over everything, and a drop in stressors too of a sudden. This is my hypothesis. I need to experience a few more similar instances to be sure.
I’m not in the mood for a thorough analysis.