The Joyful Art of Giving Might Well Become Joyless (If It Threatens Loss of Self)

By Monique Van Tulder

I’m quite well versed in this, you see, a few years ago, finding myself yet again at the ‘top of everyone’s pyramid of people we need, and the bottom of my own’ I eventually did what any self-respecting middle-aged woman would do – I ran away from my husband, my kids, my mum, even our sweet puppy.

First, a few thousand kilometers; I left to change lightbulbs in an interstate home and stayed for five months. Then, I booked a trip two continents away. I jumped off cliffs (literally), pondered how to simplify my life, and contemplated my ‘next bit’. I needed to discover if there was more to me than the weight of everyone else’s needs on my shoulders.

My family calls it “the time Mum got mad and took off” – I prefer to think about it as my “you can all bloody look after yourselves for a bit, moment.”

When you’re doing such a great job of being a mum or ‘carer’, it’s easy to forget where you fit in the world. As mums, our role is to keep our babies safe and secure physically and emotionally. But as women, we do this and ‘the rest’.

The bone-deep exhaustion of sleepless nights, the heart-pounding panic of near-misses, school lunches, doctors’ appointments, work deadlines, gift-buying – the minutiae of managing everything can leave us spent. The emotional and intellectual labour we shoulder for everyone else has us depleted before the day even begins.

In On Our Best Behaviour, author Elise Loehnen explores how women internalise caregiving as a societal duty, often running on empty before we realise it. Over time, caregiving morphs into expectation, draining us without our awareness.

Mothers bring divergent backgrounds, personalities, circumstances. We do the best with what we have. The mental load we carry every day is the constant hum no-one else seems to notice.

The pivotal moment for me? Let’s say the preceding decades of Parenting as a verb – a constant, relentless activity that somehow defined an entire generation of well-meaning parents.

I naively thought preschool was for play, social interaction – not ensuring they could read the newspaper before age five. But that was just the tip of the iceberg; lurking beneath the surface a clear message I had to up my game.

I’ll never forget when, hosting a child’s birthday party, I was informed I should have provided every guest with a prize during pass the parcel – apparently, everyone had to win!

Or the time a mother called me in distress, wondering why our sons weren’t best friends despite her efforts to orchestrate their every interaction. While seemingly harmless, these little moments add up to a culture where we prevent our children from experiencing even the smallest disappointments.

It’s the overscheduling, too – piling on extracurriculars until there’s no time for them to contemplate their navels.

Without exception, all the women I interviewed for my book, A Grown Up’s Gap Year,  proceeded to tell me how busy life is, tending to all that is required of them. They explained first how they love their (insert: person/people/pets) – and without doubt they (and I) do.

I asked permission to acknowledge this important fact then pop it to one side. I deeply understand.

Not one woman prefaced our chat with how much they prioritise themselves first. Prioritising yourself, even if you remain as ‘adjudicator for all’, allows you to change the narrative. Being purposeful, creative, and curious about your wellbeing takes time, energy, and inclination.

Energy and time are another matter altogether.

Years of a low-grade simmering fury at ‘my boundaries’ being ignored whilst my husband was an A Grader at sticking his needs front line and centre. Perhaps he has it right – the balance between caring enough and self-preservation.

Somewhere along the way, societal aspirations skyrocketed.

Helicopter parenting wasn’t something I set out to do, but it became inevitable in a world where being ‘just a good parent’ was no longer enough. The 1990s marked the beginning of this seismic shift in parenting culture, reaching its full stride by the 2000s.

Studies show that between 1981 and 2021, the time parents spent actively engaging with their children more than doubled, while children’s independence significantly decreased. We evolved from being parents (the noun) to actively parenting (the verb) – scheduling, monitoring, protecting, orchestrating every moment of our children’s lives.

Oh, make no mistake, I acknowledge I might have chosen to step out of ‘this race’ – but how?

As I concluded writing my book, Dr Danielle Einstein and Dr Judith Locke released theirs, speaking directly to my conundrum in their book Raising Anxiety.

They argue that overprotective, interventionist parenting – the type that cushions every potential fall – has contributed to a generation who struggle with resilience.

Einstein’s work highlights that when we remove all uncertainty, we send the message that uncertainty is to be feared. The result? Have we – through hovering and over-scheduling – left them less capable of managing life’s complexities?

While the reasons for our ‘mental load’ are multifaceted – let me challenge you to decide to  reclaim some space for yourself, without the guilt. Because, as it turns out, being less available might actually be good for everyone.

It took running away for me to be able to reframe freedom. I now understand this state to be putting a fence around what I need – with an impending project (or feeling overwhelmed) I now physically remove myself for pockets of time in order to reclaim expanse and sanity for me and those close to me.

No longer the only 24/7 problem-solver, now, my calendar includes non-negotiable ‘me time’, and I’ve retired from my unpaid role as full-time Chief Domestic Officer.

It’s about balancing being there for my loved ones while also nurturing myself – after all, you can’t pour from an empty cup, can you?

You can order Monique’s book here: A Grown Up’s Gap Year and for more information, go to her website or Instagram