There’s a particular kind of tired that sneaks in after I’ve spent time with family.
It’s not exhaustion from too many social interactions. It’s not just a sugar crash from all the snacks, or emotional fatigue from navigating different personalities.
It’s something else entirely.
I’ve started to call it family jet lag.
It’s a sensation that lands most heavily when my husband isn’t there with me. His presence acts like an anchor, an energetic tether to who I’ve become. When he’s there, I feel held in the present moment. I can remember who I am now. But when he’s not, it’s startling how quickly I can slip out of the present.
Slip into the older versions of me.
Slip into patterns I thought I outgrew.
Slip into something so familiar it feels like my own skin, just a bit off-kilter.
And I don’t always notice it happening right away.
It’s more like I wake up hours later and feel it in my bones.
The fog. The fatigue. The strange disorientation, like I’ve flown across multiple time zones and forgotten where I landed.
Because energetically, I have.
I’ve traveled across my own timeline. I’ve revisited versions of myself that no longer match my current shape. I’ve worn old identities like borrowed coats that don’t quite fit anymore. And while the visits are loving and warm, they are also draining if I’m not careful.
Time travel takes energy. And I’ve learned that if I don’t create intentional space to return—really return—to myself, I can stay stuck in the in-between for too long.
So now, when I’m on these family trips, I’m intentional about checking in with myself throughout the day. How am I feeling? What do I need right now? What would help me reground?
And when I return from these trips, I treat myself like I would after a long-haul flight.
I rest. I hydrate. I go on slow walks and let my body catch up to my soul. I pause before jumping back into work or socializing.
It’s a practice of reclamation.
Because here’s what I know: Our families are the origin stories of who we became. But who we were as children isn’t the fullest expression of who we’re becoming.
And if we want to keep growing into the truth of ourselves, we need practices that help us come home, not just to a house or a role, but into our own presence.
I’m curious, have you felt this before?
The strange time-bending that happens with family?
The feeling of being transported back… and the effort it takes to return to yourself?
If so, I want you to know you’re not alone. And you’re not regressing. You’re just human. Complex. Multilayered. With a timeline that sometimes overlaps in surprising ways.
Give yourself grace.
And maybe next time you feel the jet lag settle in, try asking:
What part of me did I visit?
And what part of me is ready to come back?
