What lingers after we come home

A few days ago, I came back from our holiday. Two weeks in France, far away from anything that smelt of routine. Long days on the bike, exploring back roads, feeling the body work, letting the head clear. Out in the morning, back in the evening with heavy legs and an easy mind. Time seemed to move differently – wider, slower, simpler.

It was the perfect change of scene. Batteries charged, muscles stronger. And yet: back home, I feel unexpectedly heavy. No deadlines waiting, no big pressure – and still, that familiar post-holiday blues. A kind of weight in the head, a longing for those landscapes in France. Why does the return feel so harsh?

Perhaps because, on holiday, life falls into rhythm almost on its own. Over the years we’ve stripped away the stress: no must-sees, no racing through hotspots, no checklists. Just quiet places in nature, sleep when tired, food when hungry, movement because it feels good. A life in flow. Simply being, body and soul. Maybe that’s exactly what I’m missing now.

Back here, I also make space for sleep, exercise and pauses. So why does it feel so different? Maybe because it’s not about “big recovery”, but the tiny interludes in between. Those moments with no purpose at all. Sitting outside, feeling the wind on your face. When do I allow myself that here, without guilt creeping in?

That heaviness we sometimes feel after coming back even has a name – the so-called *post-holiday syndrome*. Studies suggest that the benefits of a holiday often begin to fade after a few days, sometimes after a few weeks. Yet researchers also note: people who shape their holidays with activity and variety tend to carry the positive effects for longer than those who spend their days in purely passive rest.

So in that sense, we did everything right – holiday blues or not. The positive effect is still there, though often beneath the surface. Less a lasting rush of happiness, more a quiet cushion that carries us. Something we only notice once it is gone.

There’s also the way I glorify my holidays.

As though they’d been flawless. But if I’m honest: I also overindulged, scrolled on my phone more than I’d like, carried everyday habits with me. They were just easier to ignore there. Which makes me wonder: isn’t the holiday less a perfect counterworld, and more a mirror?

I’m the same person there as here – only with a different backdrop.

And yet away from home it’s easier to see myself without rushing to fix or improve. Too many croissants? Never mind, tomorrow I’ll ride again. Another hour on the phone? Who cares, I’m still outside in the sun. Why is it so much harder to grant myself that same lightness here?

And then the bigger question: why do I set holidays as the measure of a “good life”?

If I compare everything to those rare weeks, the everyday can only come up short. Maybe it’s not about playing holiday and daily life against each other, but about looking more honestly. The lightness of holidays – and the grounding of the everyday. Both belong to me.

Perhaps this longing I feel is simply pointing me towards more space. Not as an excuse to plan the next trip, but as a guide for the here and now. To remember I don’t always have to be driven. That even in the middle of routine, I can create small islands – even if they’re smaller than I wish.

Sometimes a moment outside is enough. No watch, no goal. Just being. Like that afternoon by the river in France, not so long ago.

Photo: Anke Berning