There should be a special name for burn out when you have kids or are a carer for other people.

I think I have burn out. I’m pretty sure I do. I’m not going to the Substack summer party tonight, which I had been so looking forward to, but it all feels too much. The idea of putting on good clothes and getting to London is definitely beyond me. I’ve never totally understood what the true definition of burn out is, and how it differs from exhaustion and overwhelm, which we are all familiar with, but when someone asks me something simple - What time is drop off? Do you know where my sneakers are? Can you sign my permission slip? - I want to clamp my hands over both my ears or hide in a small dark cupboard where they can’t find me. My reaction is the same even when I’m asked something quite nice - shall we go to the Michael Jackson movie on Thursday? Do you want to make cookies with me? Shall we make plans for the weekend?

My brain feels like butter left too long beside the cooker - it’s soft to the touch, a bit rancid, not good for much at all. Sometimes I find myself standing in the kitchen with them all talking around me, but when someone asks me a question, my cognitive processing melts. The only answer I can make to all these questions that I am certain of is, I don’t know.

I don’t know what time drop off is, or where your sneakers are, or whether I want to go to the cinema. This time, can you deal with that yourself, please?

I decide to tell my younger children, who are the only ones around, I have burn out. They fidget a bit while looking at me with pity and concern in their eyes, and I think they are going to tell me to lie down, but then one of them asks me what’s for supper. What happens when you burn out, but you have people to care for?