I went briefly mad last November and booked very expensive flights to Australia for Christmas. I was very surprised at myself for actually doing it and half expected my bank to call me to tell me my card had been stolen, given my spending is mainly comprised of groceries and grandma’s senior vitamins.

As December rolled around, it dawned on me that I was actually doing it. I was going away for a holiday. I was going to spend Christmas on the other side of the world with my friend and her husband. Christmas is the only time of year I can escape as my parents come to stay and they can relieve me of my caring duties. I’d never spent Christmas away before mainly because it would cause unnecessary family drama and I felt a sense of guilt at leaving grandma.

I felt none of that as I packed my suitcase, I couldn’t wait to get out of the house, so fed up with the accumulated years of isolation, caring for a nonagenarian and working nonstop. I was even looking forward to the hideously early first leg of the flight, and the novelty of being served food, for once. It was cold and not very good, but I was delighted nonetheless. I felt I could breathe for the first time in years as I people watched at the airport clutching my takeaway coffee cup.

My Australian break was glorious. I did things most thirty-somethings don’t think twice about but are rare or firsts for me. I had adult conversations and didn’t need to repeat myself; I had brunch and went to the movies for the first time in years; I did my first ever escape room and watched a tennis match; and I actually watched a TV show without falling asleep or having to do something for someone.

I rediscovered pre-carer me for those few days, and was happy to find that I can still meet new people and talk about something other than incontinence pads, that I can relax (it takes me a long time but I got there in the end), and that there is a world outside my miserable day-to-day existence – an essential reminder I shall take with me in 2024.

I tried very hard to not feel down or envious ( I failed, of course, but points for trying?) at all the things the people I met were doing with their lives and the obvious huge divide between my stuck-on-repeat existence and all the living they are doing.

How do I feel coming back? Apart from being sick and jetlagged, I feel lucky to have such great friends, and grateful I was able to escape for a little while. I was right back to my caring duties the moment I set foot into the house, but I will have my Australian escape to hold on to.

I needed a break and I needed a friend, I’m very grateful I managed to have both. That’s the great thing about having friends all over the world, they’re good at staying in touch and don’t mind that we very rarely see each other.

I’m reassured that the ‘old me’ is still in there, somewhere inside, hoping to be let out again soon…with things the way they are and how expensive flights are, it may be a while but be patient, old Laura.