I Time Travelled To 1952 And Saw A Life Coach
“Prioritise yourself and your time by using the ‘golden hour’- get up at 4.30am.”
Ok, so I didn’t time travel. it just felt like I was in 1952 after talking to her for half an hour.
I was asked to write an article about how to fit everything in as a working (from home) parent, running a house and everything else.
I think the editor knew that I was having a bloody hard time doing EVERYTHING, so I was the perfect candidate to write a bitchy article for a woman’s magazine.
They wanted me to write a ‘day in the life of a working mother’ piece, and then go and see a life coach to see how they could help me prioritise my time more effectively – the irony being that trying to fit in the time to travel to central London to see this life coach was a real struggle.
But hey, they were paying for the article and expenses and I quite fancied a childfree afternoon in central London.
The day in a life part was easy and mainly consisted of “wake up, shout, type a paragraph, shout again, clean up after everyone, write another paragraph, lose train of thought, clean the house, try to tire out the toddler at a playgroup, write another paragraph, clean some more and repeat”.
I duly took my daily schedule and hopped on the tube to go and see the life coach.
I didn’t like her, or her advice.
She told me to get up at 4.30 am (yes, really!) and go to the gym or to do an hour of work. This was my golden hour.
I don’t do gyms and the only time I get up at 4.30am is if the toddler is sick and we need emergency Peppa Pig time on the sofa.
She explained to me, that if I got out of bed at that ungodly hour and went to the gym for an hour, that by the time I got back I could do all the house hold chores, make breakfast for the family, sort out their clothes and school and work things for them AND have time to get in half an hour catching up on emails before they woke up.
Right. So aside from the gym, I am getting up early to do shit for other people?
I should also get a nanny, apparently, to entertain the toddler while I work so –GET THIS – I wouldn’t have to work in the evenings and BURDEN my husband with childcare so he could relax after work.
Looking after a tired toddler is my husbands punishment for supplying her with half her demanding, willful, moody genes. Plus, I can’t afford a nanny or there would be one here already.
Oh and also, while my husband was relaxing, that would be my time to spend with the children after my nanny had left for the day.
I had to scrape my jaw from the floor at this point, but I did manage to say, “and I suppose I should dress up for my husband on his return to from work? Have a hot meal ready and his slippers and newspaper in my hand?”
“Well”, she replied, “if getting dressed for the evening makes you feel better, then of course, you should do it”.
I don’t get dressed past putting on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt most days, let alone in the evenings.
I walked out of there a little bit shell shocked.
Basically, her advice was to get up at the crack of dawn just to do everything for everyone else.
“We’d like you to try her advice for a week and write about it” said the editor when I told her what had happened.
I really don’t think the pitiful fee is work getting up at 4.30 am for.