After 12 years of marriage, I’ve finally discovered what a real break means.
Don’t be quick to judge me—I am not a frivolous wife or someone running away from family responsibilities. I am simply a woman who, after twelve years of marriage, suddenly realized one simple, yet liberating truth: to be a good wife and mother, you have to know how to truly unwind—not in the kitchen with pots and pans, not with a mop in hand, not amidst the constant complaints of a husband and the demands of children, but by yourself… or at least without them.
I’m Sarah, 38 years old, living in Birmingham. Just an ordinary woman with nothing much to stand out. I have a husband, two school-age sons, and work in an accounting office. Just like everyone else. Mornings are for breakfast and getting ready, driving the kids to school, rushing to work, and evenings are for dinner, laundry, homework, and pointless conversations in front of the TV. Every day is like a carbon copy of the last.
I’ve loved the sea since I was little; it’s like a breath of life for me. But my husband is indifferent to the sun—in fact, he’s allergic. He breaks out in spots, itches, and grumbles. And the kids… well, they’re kids. All they want is to snack on sweets, play on their tablets, and complain about being bored.
This summer, something unbelievable happened. My husband, upon hearing that the heat in Brighton would be above normal, said, “I’d rather stay home.” The boys also opted out, choosing instead to go to a summer camp with their classmates. Then, my friend Emily suggested:
— My aunt’s flat in Cornwall is unoccupied. Why not join us? Let’s bring your sister, Lucy, too—we can all have some fun!
So, the three of us—me, Emily, and Lucy—were off heading south. Music filled the car, echoes of laughter, and endless chatter. It felt as though we had escaped a ship sinking under everyday life.
In Cornwall, we found the sea, warmth, and silence. We made a pact: no cooking, no cleaning, just watermelon, cucumbers, tomatoes, and morning beach runs. We slept on cool sheets, woke up early, and walked barefoot on the sand. We dived into the salty waves, sunbathed to a golden crisp, and laughed like young girls.
Those were ten days of freedom for me. No one asked for pancakes, no scenes at the ice cream stand, no whining about sand in the towels. Not a single “Muuuum, he hit me!” or “Why vegetables again?!”
Of course, there were “admirers”—the beach types with tans and sloshy charm. But we quickly made it clear: not interested, gentlemen. We weren’t there to flirt, but to relax. All three of us were married and loved our men. We just needed a breather.
I returned home renewed. Sun-kissed. Trim. And… happy. Most importantly, with a firm decision: I will have these ten days every year. Not for flirting, not to flee. But for me. To return home not as an exhausted lemon rind, but a living woman.
I no longer want a holiday where only the walls change, but the duties remain. I don’t want to carry children’s suitcases, feed my husband in three servings, and collapse from exhaustion by the third day.
Every woman needs her own personal summer. Without feeling guilty. Without fear of what others might think. Because, believe me, no one needs a tired, angry, overworked wife.
So, dear ladies, don’t be afraid. Take a break. Go. Recharge. Smile. And only then will you truly understand how important it is to take a break… from being just a wife and mom.
Let it be your personal ritual. Your personal island. Your sea—without reproach, without noisy demands. Just you, the breeze, the sun, and quiet happiness inside.
