Mental Health: Currently on Vacation...

Will Get Back to You When the Noise in My Head Stops

Do you know that feeling when you wake up already exhausted?

No, you didn’t do anything. You just lived inside your own brain, which feels like carrying a backpack full of bricks that someone occasionally sets on fire.

I’m not even sure anymore if I’m tired, anxious, introverted, mentally ill, or just... the Balkan version of a 2025 mother. In any case — it’s not something I’d put on my CV.

Sometimes I think: “Maybe I should seek professional help.”

“

I turn around and he is face down on the (wooden) floor.

There is a pause of silence as I run to him.

Then...”Ahhhhhhhhhhh!” Screaming, like I’ve never heard

before coming out of him.

But then I wonder — what would I even tell a therapist?

“Hello, I’m here because I don’t know if I’m crying because I’m sad, overtired, or because something just hasn’t emotionally landed yet. I feel like a toddler about to throw a tantrum.”

My emotional range goes from “I feel everything too much” to “Who am I and why can’t I move?”

The last thing I felt was disappointment when I sat on the bed and remembered I hadn’t turned on the washing machine.

I didn’t turn it on. I just sent a telepathic message and whispered, “God, take me.” (He didn’t.)

People say, “Find time for yourself.”

Where exactly? In the sock drawer? In the freezer next to the frozen pizza?

Then I find my phone in the oven — the one I lost three hours ago — and remember I didn’t finish cleaning it because I got interrupted wiping someone’s butt, cleaning up a mini flood, and Googling how much caffeine I can consume before  my heart says“nope.”

I don’t even know anymore when I’m lying, when I’m pretending to be a stable human being.

All I know is I laugh when I’m stressed, and I cry when someone says, “How are you?”

Conclusion:

My mental health is currently taking a break.

I sent it on a wellness retreat in Switzerland while I’m here patching up reality with coffee and sarcasm.

So if you see me staring into space — don’t call 911.

I’m just waiting for a wave of nameless thoughts (or possibly PMS) to pass.

Featured in our Winter/Spring 2026 Edition,

About The Author: Emma Moon is a mom of three little humans from Croatia, trying to stay afloat in the mess of modern motherhood. “Writing helps me process, breathe, and sometimes just laugh at the absurdity of it all. I also write my own blog.” Emma also writes under a pseudonym. ◆ ◆ ◆