an aussie in austria

In the thick of it, it honestly felt like everything that could have gone wrong did. If I’d known how hard it was going to be going into it I probably wouldn’t have done it.

But it had been almost two years since I’d visited Oz. I’d had a kid in the meantime. And last winter almost killed me (or at least threw me into a deep hole of depression that a holiday to Australia probably could have fixed).

So, we went for it. We endured the flight, the jet lag, the covid, the weather, the constant moving around with a toddler, the terrible sleeping from said toddler. And then we faced getting back on the aeroplane and doing it all again.

I have to admit that I still feel a bit traumatised from the trip. It’s taking me some time to process. I’m glad I went. I’m glad for the break from winter. I loved showing my little boy around to all my friends. I loved seeing him shine and socialise and get to know people, especially the little people like my niece and nephew. We saw so many dogs. We loved the beach. We loved that we didn’t have to rug up in gloves and beanie to go outside.

But it brought back all the feels of how my life has changed since I had a kid. That trapped feeling that everything you ever knew has altered for the worst. All the stuff I already trudged through in therapy and there I was reliving it again.

At times I desperately didn’t want to be there. I wanted to go home. But Austria as ‘home’ in that moment didn’t feel at all like the home I wanted to be in. And that brought up deeper feelings of why on earth did I leave in the first place?

Honestly just passing by two young girls chatting in that familiar accent had me fighting back tears. I felt this weird, impossible jealousy toward everyone around me as Australians living in Australia.

And I’m going to admit I didn’t always act my best. There’s all kinds of bad stuff going on in the world and there I was being sooky because I was stuck in Covid quarantine when I wanted to visit friends. I was tired, with a tired, jet-lagged, Covid-riddled toddler. But sometimes, the drama queen within must show her wretched face. Naturally I’d planned everything to maximise my visit and it seemed that every single plan got derailed… often mere hours before. And I’m not so good at changing plans at the last minute.

But anyway… we did it. We got there. We got back. And like one of my friends said… this will be the hardest trip. So… I have to put it in a box now… all the negative thoughts I had… all the unfairness, real or imagined. I still got my trip. I still got to see my family. I got to feel the (debatable) warmth of the December sun, and the (definite) frigidity of the December water temperatures. I got to eat caramel slices and budget Coles sausages and Moe prawns and we even snuck in a quick pint at the pub with baby in tow when it conveniently started raining on a walk.

So, bring on summer, I say, and a little boy who can wear shorts and dip his feet in the ocean again, and enjoy the timeless experience of sand stuck to sunscreen. Honestly it can’t come quick enough this year.