This past week has felt so unusual, almost unnerving in its simplicity. For the first time in what feels like forever, we had a worry-free week. No fever spikes at midnight, no sudden scrambles for Panado, no frantic calls to the doctor’s office. Just calm. Just routine.

Well, if I’m being honest, there was a small cough. A little tickle here and there that I kept listening out for like it was whispering a secret. But compared to the usual drama of sick weeks and meltdowns, it was nothing. The kind of thing you shrug off in other seasons of life. Yet, even with that tiny cough, I found myself looking around, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Because here’s the thing: my brain doesn’t quite trust smooth sailing. Instead of settling into the peace, I started second-guessing it. Why is everything going so smoothly? What am I missing? Surely something is about to go wrong. It’s like my inner worry-radar refuses to switch off, always scanning the horizon for the next storm.

I think part of this comes from what I call my “mama-energy.” You know that hyper-alert mode we slip into the moment we become mothers? Always on top of things, always anticipating needs before they’re spoken, always double-checking the bags, the snacks, the medicine, the spare set of clothes. It’s like my nervous system has been trained to run on high alert. Even in calm waters, I’m bracing for the waves.

But maybe it’s not just motherhood. Maybe part of it is my job, too. My work requires me to always be switched on, always anticipating what’s around the corner, always noticing the gaps or the stories hiding under the surface. I live in that headspace where nothing is ever taken at face value there’s always a layer beneath, always something about to happen. Perhaps that habit has seeped into the way I mother, too. Maybe it’s why, when life finally hands me a quiet week, I almost don’t know how to trust it.

I noticed it most at bedtime. Usually, I’d be listening for the sound of a restless cough, half-sleeping with one ear tuned like a satellite dish. But this week, there was nothing. The house was quiet, the kids slept soundly. And instead of drifting into deep sleep myself, I lay awake, heart thumping, thinking, This is too calm. Something must be around the corner. A bit too much, I know.

But maybe this week was trying to teach me something. That calm is not the enemy. That peace doesn’t always mean I’ve missed a detail or let my guard down. Sometimes, calm really is just calm. And sometimes, a cough is just a cough.

The funny thing is, I’ve prayed for weeks like this before. Weeks where the children are healthy, where the routines hum smoothly, where we aren’t living on the edge. And yet, when it arrived, I almost didn’t know how to receive it. I was so wired for chaos that I didn’t know how to inhabit the quiet. It felt like standing in a tidy room after months of clutter you almost don’t know what to do with your hands.

So I tried something new. Each morning, instead of leaping straight into the day with my usual mama-energy, I took a moment to actually notice the calm, to savour the sound of laughter instead of coughing, to watch the ordinary play of toys on the floor without rushing ahead in my mind to what might go wrong. It wasn’t easy, my thoughts still tugged me toward worry but slowly, gently I started to unclench.

And you know what? Nothing terrible happened. The week ended as smoothly as it began. No hospital visits, no disasters, no missed deadlines. Just an ordinary, week.

Maybe that’s the real lesson of motherhood not only surviving the chaos, but also learning to trust the quiet when it comes. To let the mama-energy rest now and then, to believe that not every calm is a trick, and to remind myself that life can sometimes be soft.

tracy-lynn.ruiters@inl.co.za

Weekend Argus

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