Five Minutes on the Balcony
For the longest time, I blamed my tiredness on work. Then I figured maybe it was just getting older, or the endless winter, or the buses running late, or the weekly supermarket runs, cooking, laundry, those relentless family group chats, and the daily calls from Mum, who always starts off with Why dont you visit more often? But if Im honest, what wore me out most was never having a moments peace at home.
Not that anyone was shouting or making a racket. No one blasted music or smashed dishes. It was just that someone always needed something. My husband would call out to ask where the car insurance documents were. My son would yell from upstairs that the WiFi had packed in again. My mother-in-law would ring, checking if Id booked her doctors appointment. And at work, they would message well after seven oclock, as if shutting my laptop meant nothing. Even when no one was actually talking to me, that to-do list kept ticking over in my mind. Pick up dog food. Reply to payroll. Wash the PE kit. Dont forget to send money for my nephews after-school club since my sisters lateagain.
And I noticed I was starting to lose it over the tiniest things. Not the big issues. It was how my husband put the sugar on the top shelf instead of the middle, or how my son dumped his bag by the front door, or how there was a single spoon in the sinksomething that would literally take seconds to wash. Id snap, then walk around the kitchen stewing over my own reaction.
One evening, I was frying up some burgers, soup bubbling away for tomorrow, washing spinning, when my husband came in asking if Id seen his grey folder. No, I havent, I said. He asked again. I replied, louder. He walked in and said, Why do you always get so wound up?
And that was what tipped me overnot the folder, but that. Because I wasnt just instantly wound upId already been on the edge all day by that point. But what was the point in explaining? So I turned off the hob, wiped my hands, and stepped out onto the balcony.
Our little balcony is nothing fancyjust double-glazed, with a few jars of screws, an old folding chair, a bag of Christmas decorations, and a clothes airer that only gets used in the summer. I stood between the airer and the toolbox, pulled the door closed behind me, and just stood there. Downstairs, someone was parking; opposite, windows glowed; cold air drifted up from below. The best partno one was bothering me.
After about five minutes, my husband tapped on the glass.
You alright?
I slid the door open: Yeah, I just needed a minute to myself.
He looked at me a bit puzzled but didnt say anything.
The next night, I went out there on purpose. After dinner, before tackling the dishes, when my phone was lighting up with work messages, Id just leave it inside, shut the door, and stand. Sometimes Id sit on that old chair, or look down at Mrs. Coleman walking her pug in a bright red coat. Sometimes, for once, I wouldnt think about anything, which is rare for me.
Five minutes. Not an hour, not some big mindfulness routine Id brag about to friends. Just five minutes when I didnt exist for anyone else.
At first, my family thought this was one of my odd habits. My son once opened the door:
Are you upset?
No, love. Im just having a break.
He snorted, On the balcony?
Yep. On the balcony.
My husband tried to ask me things through the glass a couple of times, but eventually gave up. I think he realised unless it was a fire or something, it could wait.
After a couple of weeks, I felt calmer. Not glowing-with-joy or anything, but just a bit less frazzled. If my son forgot to take out the bins, I didnt lose it at the front door. If my mother-in-law rang with her third question that evening, I didnt roll my eyeseven if she couldn’t see me. And when someone at work sent a Can you check this ASAP? at 9pm, I could actually say, Ill look in the morning, and nothing fell apart.
Still, no one at home really got it. One time my sister came round. We were having tea and after dinner, as usual, I nipped out onto the balcony. When I got back, she asked,
Everything alright?
Yes?
Its just, you disappear every evening. I thought maybe you and Tom had a row.
It made me laugh. Here, if a woman shuts herself out for five minutes, everyone thinks its a crisis. But if she runs herself ragged all day and ends up speaking through gritted teeth by the evening, thats just normal.
Then there was a day that really showed me how much I needed that time. I had to stay late at work, got caught in icy rain, lugged two heavy bags back from Sainsburys, found out my son had hidden a bad mark for three days, and my husband had forgotten to pick up his mums prescription. He told me, all guilty, but I was at breaking pointI knew if I said anything, it would be a disaster.
So I took my shoes off, dumped the shopping on the floor, and headed straight for the balcony, still in my coat.
My husband followed almost instantly.
Come on, just talk to me.
I answered through the glass:
If I start talking now, no ones going to like it. Give me five minutes.
He nodded and left me to it.
When I came back in, my son was sitting at the table with his schoolbooks, my husband unpacking groceries in silence. I said:
Lets do this: first, lets order your mums prescription for delivery. Then, you show me your testno fibbing, no yelling. Just show me.
And we actually managed it. No shoutingan achievement in our house.
After that, my husband started telling our son,
Mum’s on the balcony, give her a minute.
And one day I found him out there himself, standing in his coat, gazing downhe used to tease me for this! I didnt make a thing of it. Over dinner, he just said,
Actually, its alright out there. Nice and quiet.
I just nodded.
Honestly, those five minutes didnt solve any huge problems. Work was still busy. My mother-in-law didnt call any less. My son didn’t turn into a model teenager. We didnt suddenly have more money. My husband still asks me where things are, as if I run a lost property office. But the house felt a bit less tense. Not because everyone changed overnight, but because I stopped being on edge all the time.
The other night, I didnt get my five minutes. There was always somethingcalls, messages, dishes, another spreadsheet to send. I crawled into bed and realised I hadnt been on my own all day, not even for five minutes. That felt heavier than anything.
So the next day, I snuck out earlier. Down in the garden, the caretaker was clearing snow off the path, someone upstairs dragged a chair, across the way Mrs. Baker was watering her plants. I sat there in my old jumper, just relishing that no one needed me right then.
The door opened, and my son poked his head out:
Will you be long?
Two more minutes!
Alright, Ill drain the pasta myself.
And closed the door behind him.
