The problem with holidays…

…is that the positive effects of them never last.

It’s been 5 days since I returned from Sicily, and, try as I might, it feels like I never went away.

You can escape reality temporarily, but it’s inevitable that you have to return to it eventually. If only we could have the randy sex we have on holiday ALL the time. Alas, work, exhaustion, money stress and household chores will soon put a dampener on things in ‘the real world’.

I was told while I was away that relaxing on holiday might help me get pregnant.


Okay, I appreciate the sentiment. I do. It was well-intended. And not said to me by anyone who reads this blog by the way, because I know my friends wouldn’t be daft enough to say something like that to me. Not unless they were happy to lose an eye.

But let me spell this out clearly. 


I was on my period for the first 2 days of the holiday, and I’m only just entering my fertile phase now. ANY SEX I HAD ON HOLIDAY WILL NOT BE GETTING ME PREGNANT THIS CYCLE OKAY? 👌

Yes, holidays can de-stress you, but that doesn’t last forever. As soon as I came back I was confronted with the usual daily shit like I’d never been away. If only we could bottle up that zen holiday feeling we’d all be millionaires eh?

The only hope I have is that the chilled start to the cycle, the copious amounts of Vitamin D I got, and the break from temp-taking and pill-popping, has laid the foundations for a successful cycle. We’re on track to have enough sex around ovulation so we’re doing all we can do. The rest is up to the fucking Sperm Meet Egg Gods.

I will say this though. 

There was a day on holiday when I was on my own. I was at the beach by 8:30am, the sea was calm and there was barely anybody there with me for a good hour or so (us Brits like to be first there, and I HAD already gone down at 7am to put my towel on a sunbed like a complete div). It was already 30C and I closed my eyes and let the sun hit my face and listened only to the sound of the waves gently lapping on the shore. It sounds cliched, but it was the closest to bliss I’d been in a long time. 

That moment was one I’d been waiting for for months. The chance to just lay there and forget.

Forget about all the shit of the past 20 cycles. Forget about the monthly disappointment. Forget about the grief of my chemical pregnancy which I still have a hard time accepting. Forget about the what ifs of the future. Forget about the tears. Forget about the heartache. Forget everything.

And I did. For a good while, I did. I made myself be in the moment, focused only on my senses. The rhythm of my breathing. The sound of the sea. The heat of the sun. I tried so hard to root myself there and try to store up those relaxed feelings so I can call upon them on the tough days that will inevitably come.

That day, I read a book from start to finish in about 4 hours. It is called “Dare to Dream” by Izzy Judd. She is the wife of McFly drummer Harry Judd. I could have written that fucking book. All the emotions she describes were like she was voicing what was in my heart. And before I knew it, the tears started falling. I was literally only reading the introductory pages and there was a constant stream of tears down my cheeks until I turned the last page.

I was so engrossed I barely noticed the foreign lady sitting on the bed next to me, looking at me with a sympathetic smile. I had my sunglasses on but it would still have been plain to see that I was crying. In fact, it got to the point that I had to wade out into the sea to a spot on my own and just sob. I sobbed for like half an hour and just let the waves wash away my tears.

I’m sure I contributed to the saltiness of the Mediterranean that day…

What that book gave me though, was hope.

And although those stress-free 7 days are becoming a distant memory, and my tan will soon begin to fade, I will keep with me that memory of being secluded on the beach, the sound of the waves, and the comfort of the sun.

And the hope. That will never fade.

5 thoughts on “The problem with holidays…

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