Somewhere between answering an email, buying a birthday present and wondering whether there is anything for dinner, it occurs to you that you have become the unofficial operations director of everyone’s life. The salary is disappointing. The hours are outrageous. The feedback is mostly about the wrong type of cereal.

There are school forms, family plans, work deadlines, washing, birthdays, appointments and the mysterious task of knowing where everybody’s things are. You are not necessarily doing all of it alone. You are, however, suspiciously often the person who remembers it exists.

And then someone suggests a little self-care. Perhaps a bath. Perhaps a walk. Perhaps adding “relax” to a list that already contains seventeen things and an unexplained reminder to buy batteries.

The strange thing is that you can adore the people in your life and still want a quiet hour in which nobody says your name. You can be grateful and overwhelmed. Capable and completely fed up. A good parent, partner, friend or colleague and still not feel like answering another question.

Maybe the answer is not to become better at juggling. Maybe it is to put something down. Let the non-essential thing be non-essential. Buy the supermarket cake. Decline the invitation. Allow the towels to remain unfolded for one spectacular evening.

And if all you really want is thirty minutes of talking to someone who will not ask what is for dinner, that sounds like an excellent use of half an hour.