are we there yet?
Disclaimer: This newsletter talks a bunch about parenting. If that's not for you, totally ok to skip this one! :)
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how nothing ever really ends.
Not work.
Not parenting (well… not anytime soon for me).
Not relationships.
Not caring for your body.
Not building something you’re passionate about.
There’s no magical finish line where everything is done, perfectly ticked off, and you’re handed a permanent sense of calm and “oh yeahhh, I’m satisfied with myself right now.”
And yet, that’s what I catch myself subconsciously chasing — more often than I’d like to admit.
This has been EXTRA loud for me lately, as I’ve just gotten back from travelling — in a van — for a month with a three‑year‑old and a seven‑year‑old.
Which was beautiful, yes.
And hilarious (my family are all aspiring comedians).
And grounding, because I feel like I know them all a little better.
And also… the most physically and emotionally difficult “holiday” I have ever been a part of.
(And I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve been to both sides of Everest Base Camp.)
I genuinely need both hands to count how many times I felt overwhelmed and exhausted along the way. Moments where I caught myself thinking: once we get there, or once this leg of the trip is over, or once the kids sleep (why do they never want to sleep?), then I’ll feel better. Then I’ll finally relax.
An imaginary finish line.
Constantly moving forward.
But then I realised something.
The happiest moments on that trip didn’t come from reaching… really, anything. They came when I paused and just—
Let. It. Go.
Letting go of the work that never, ever finishes.
(Yes, I still worked on the trip — sort of. It’s my choice, and I genuinely adore what I do.)
But I let go of the emails that could wait… if I just let them wait.
The decisions that didn’t actually need me right then, even though it really felt like they did.
The quiet pressure I put on myself to still be “on top of everything” while away, because I told myself, “I’ll just work these two hours a day,” forgetting that those two hours are exceptionally hard to find on a road trip with children unless you skip sleep.
(Blasphemy.)
The studios functioned as normal — if not better — thanks to a crack‑hot team I adore.
This beautiful business kept breathing.
Nothing collapsed because I wasn’t holding it all every second.
I also had to let go of guilt.
Guilt about not keeping up my “usual” workout routine — which, if I’m honest, is a whole lot of reformer and yoga at our studio, plus dribbles of strength and conditioning whenever I feel inspired to carry something heavy.
On the road, that routine went completely out the window… and did a very good job of hiding in the sugar cane fields.
Instead of forcing it back into existence, I softened.
Walks.
Swimming.
Squats outside the many, many pie shops.
I had to trust that my body doesn’t forget who it is just because I missed a few weeks of structure.
We got home on the weekend, and of course, the last 90 minutes of the trip were the longest. Three accidents. A truck fire on the M7.
So closeeeeeee… yet moving soooo slow.
Welcome home to the hustle that is Sydney.
Somewhere deep in my brain, I think I believed that once we pulled into the driveway, I’d be rewarded with a pocket of stillness. Like:
You’ve arrived.
Now you can sit in your massage chair, pull out House of Flame and Shadow, put a blanket over your head, and hope no one finds you for at least 20 minutes.
But reality looked more like unpacking the car, figuring out food, opening all the rain‑damaged mail, and attending to parental things that never end.
And that’s when it hit me again.
None of this ends.
Parenting doesn’t end.
Work doesn’t end.
Caring for yourself doesn’t end.
Life doesn’t wrap itself up neatly and give you permission to relax.
So why do we treat it like it should?
Why do we stress as if we’re behind, when there is no “ahead”?
Why does our heart jump into our chest and try to escape through the sternum when we realise there’s still more to do?
I think it’s because we’re approaching something endless with a finite mindset.
We’re waiting for the break to come after the thing is done.
We’re waiting to relax once everything settles.
We’re waiting to enjoy life once it looks different.
But the break isn’t at the end of anything.
Rest isn’t a reward.
Peace isn’t a destination.
Ease isn’t something you unlock once you’ve earned it.
It’s something you take in pieces.
A pick‑up of insert your current obsession here while the kids play.
A downward‑facing dog between laptop tasks.
A day where you do less than planned and let that be fine.
A moment where you choose presence over productivity.
I didn’t need a grand solution.
I needed a shift.
From “When will this be finished?”
To “How can I make this actually liveable?”
From chasing imaginary finish lines
To settling into a rhythm I can actually sustain.
Life is continual.
That’s not a flaw,it’s just how the cookie crumbles.
So maybe the practice isn’t about getting on top of it all.
Maybe it’s about becoming an opportunist.
Taking rest where it exists.
Finding joy in the middle.
Letting go more often.
And learning how to enjoy the daily practice…
because that’s what this is.
Not something to complete.
But something to live.
- Annika xx
P.S Enjoy these pictures of my youngest little gremlin with some bugs.
P.P.S Book Club is next month (we are telling you now so you have time to read the book, but all good if you dont finish it, its still always worth still coming!)
