I didn’t realise how tired I was until I stopped

Last time I wrote to you, I told you that Switzerland already feels like home. That part hasn’t changed. But there’s another truth sitting alongside it, and it’s important I share it with you.

I am exhausted. And I am, quite consciously, letting myself recover.

Four and a half months of holding everything. Moving out of our family home, living in someone else’s home, sorting out things, selling our things, packing our things, unpacking them, and then packing them again. My husband has done a lot of the logistics, and I am so grateful for that. But there’s a particular kind of tired that comes from the not-quite-visible load - the constant mental tracking, the decisions, the preparation and bracing for the next thing, the emotional support for our children - and I’m only now realising how much of that I was carrying too.

For the past few weeks, something has been shifting. I finally feel able to relax. Not the kind of relaxing you do for twenty minutes before the next thing pulls you back in - actual relaxing. There is plenty to do and sort out but I’m not constantly running a to-do list in the background of my mind. Not in the way I was before we moved: what needs packing. What needs sorting. What needs selling. What needs doing. The sheer intensity of tasks has slowed down significantly.

I’ve caught myself sitting down and reading a book while the children have some downtime in front of the TV. Acknowledging the voice in my head saying I should get up and do something else instead, and reminding myself that rest is important too. I’ve even finished a book in two weeks - an actual work of fiction, start to finish, for no reason other than I wanted to know what happened. My husband and I have watched and finished a TV series together in the evenings, something we hadn’t done in months.

I have tried to embrace pockets of time to pause, rest and do things I enjoy rather than constantly pushing through and being productive - something I feel is very ingrained in me to do. Part of this approach is embracing a culture that prioritises wellbeing and relaxation, another part is because I have been running on adrenaline for a long time and I know I need to rest before my body puts in more extreme measures to slow me down.

Alongside all of this, there is the very real demand of setting up a new life in a new place. There’s a cognitive cost to building a life from scratch that I had anticipated but need to say out loud. Working out the health system - from health insurance to where we’d go for emergencies (my son got a tick bite within days of arriving, followed by various other bites and rashes). Finding the ordinary things - shampoo, school equipment, foods we all like - now takes research, translation, trial and error. Scanning every ingredients label to check for what we can’t eat. Missing Ocado, missing next-day Amazon delivery - our children have made their feelings about in-person food shopping very clear. I’m sure I’ll grow to appreciate the slower pace, but convenience has real value when you’re already juggling this much.

Underneath it is that I miss “knowing” things - knowing where to go, what to do. Not knowing the language leaves me feeling slightly on the back foot, more often than I’d like. I’m having to remind myself, again and again, to give myself grace and take this slowly - not something that comes naturally to me.

I also miss my family and friends - bumping into people I know, the impromptu chats. Right now I’m searching for friends, and there’s something disconcerting about actively looking, rather than seeing familiar faces wherever I go. And yet alongside the searching there is real joy - I’ve made connections already, some incredibly lovely people who’ve helped me feel settled sooner than I expected, and I’m genuinely grateful for them.

It’s a lot to hold alongside the tiredness. And still - underneath it, alongside it, not instead of it - I feel excited. I think I’m in the best place I’ve been in months, maybe longer.

This feels like a real opportunity for me and my family. Ideas about my work are flowing again in a way they haven’t for a long time. There is so much to learn here - a language, a culture, and, I suspect, quite a lot about myself.

It feels like the right thing. And yet I’m tired from everything it took to get here.

Both of those are true at once. I’m learning that recovery isn’t something you earn after everything is sorted or you have something to show for it. It’s something you’re allowed to do simply because you’re a person who has been carrying a lot. I’m trying to let myself have this slower season without treating it as something to rush through, or something I need to justify.

If any of this is landing - the tiredness underneath the excitement, the grief tangled up with the joy, the permission you’re still working on giving yourself - I would love to hear about it. It is also what we discuss in greater detail in our monthly calls for paid subscribers. It is a beautiful space to connect with other women to discuss these very topics.

With warmth,

Ellie