By the time the week had begun I had already hit my threshold. It was becoming increasingly difficult to tap into my dwindling reserves of patience and kindness, not only towards others but also towards myself. August has been an intense month. Funnily enough, a ‘memory’ that popped up reminded me that in 2020, when I had first moved to Tramin, August had been similarly demanding. Back then I had balanced different jobs, from babysitting to cataloguing art books for a private collector to apple harvesting, besides intellectual work. Two years since, I found myself balancing the sudden prospect of a full-time profile which landed in my lap so conveniently I couldn’t refuse, then conducting a residence-based workshop for MA students of Peace Studies at the Innsbruck University over a week while continuing the full-time copywriting job, managing other self-initiated projects while still being our child’s primary caregiver. 

I was experiencing a textbook version of what is called parental burnout. Entering the week when my stay permit was no longer valid as a document that offered mobility within the EU added to the swelling feeling of claustrophobia. I began to crave alone time. In fact, I was able to identify that its absence was making me feel lonely in my experience of everything. I had no time to process my feelings, and the direct consequence of it was that I was starting to stock up on resentment and envy. So I quickly researched parental burnout, which resulted in suggestions about the vitality of looking after oneself. One site proposed walking as an excellent form of self-care. But I walk almost every day, I thought, especially with my child. Then, on Sunday morning, I woke up and decided to walk alone.