The trouble with holidays

Is there anyone else out there who finds holidays problematic? Okay, I know I wrote just last week about the bliss of January and I meant it, but what I’m about to say is every bit as true.

I find holidays tough going. It’s fine if we are somewhere completely new, travelling say, with a sense of purpose – to catch up with these friends, to drink in this exotic place, to make the most of every minute. Bush walking or camping is similar – there is a lot to do.

What I’m talking about is the kind of holiday where you are in a place you have been a hundred times before (for us, the shack at Anglesea) and although there may be a few jobs to do on the house and the block, basically, you’re just there to relax.

I know many people in our kind of society find it hard to stop working, to just chill out. It’s vital to their self-esteem to be busy. For me it’s not that so much – I am happy to admit to having a pretty manageable workload and decent work-life balance most of the time.

It’s more that my self-esteem is bound up in the roles I perform week in week out, roles where I can bluff that I am competent, calm and kind. At work I barely ever lose my cool. I’m only there four days a week, with good colleagues and satisfying work, it’s not hard to keep myself nice.

When I was out of the paid work force and raising kids full time, it was my week-to-week commitments that kept me feeling good about myself. Kindergarten committee. Church. Nursing mums. Play group, book group. Even friends – mostly I am a pretty good friend, although like most people, I’ve had my moments.

At Anglesea, though, with nothing on the agenda, day after day, the only role I had was that of partner and mother – two things I never felt particularly good at. Seeing myself exposed as a not-great mum (as I thought) day after day, with nothing else to balance the picture, did my head in.

These days the kids are all adults and my dear friends and it’s a completely different situation. I’ve also done a lot of work on my various demons, which rarely reappear to haunt. But if they are going to, holidays are when they come visiting.

My default setting is self-criticism (and taking myself and my shortcomings far too seriously!) and in the long and what should be lovely times of holidays when there is nothing particular to do, I am confronted by my laziness and self-absorption. I fret that my husband (who has a pretty good track record of sticking around) will tire of me and leave, bored out of his brain. I worry endlessly about my writing, which, try as I might, doesn’t ever quite take off in the way I’d like it to.

Mostly, I feel guilty about having so much time off in a world where most people probably never have holidays, let alone two weeks in such a gorgeous place. Working hard helps to keep this at bay but never defeats it – give me more than a couple of days leave and back it comes with a vengeance.

When I return from a holiday, I inevitably feel better – rested, enthusiastic and with a renewed sense of purpose and perspective. It’s always worth it. I just wish I could conquer my feelings of guilt and inadequacy when I am actually in the middle of the holiday itself, just kick back in gratitude, happiness and relaxation. I suspect my long-suffering husband would appreciate this too.