The Moment I Realised I May Be Carrying a Bit Too Much

I didn’t injure my arm doing anything impressive. No gym accident, no heroic mishap, nothing dramatic or worth retelling at a dinner party as once upon a decade ago it may have been.

I injured myself carrying three bottles of Gin.

You see, I was returning home after a beautiful, peaceful week in Aitutaki - the kind of holiday where your shoulders finally drop, the world goes quiet, and you remember what rest actually feels like.

I had taken over 20 kilograms of donated cat food and supplies to the Aitutaki Pet Rescue, which meant I came home with one completely empty bag in my luggage allowance. Both bags went through as check-in, so when I walked into the airport all I had left was my handbag and my duty-free allowance to choose. We’re allowed three bottles of duty-free alcohol, and I do like Gin, so naturally I bought three. They handed them to me in one of those thin plastic duty-free bags that looks harmless until you realise the weight of it is digging into your fingers like a brick wrapped in gladwrap.

I carried it in my right hand, arm stretched long, and within seconds felt a slow tightening pull through my forearm. Before I had the sense to hook it into the crook of my elbow - which any woman with functioning common sense would have done - there was a sharp pop. Not loud. Just definite. The kind of pop you don’t forget.

I managed not to drop the Gin (thank goodness), but when I tried to pinch my fingers together to lift the bag again, my elbow simply refused to co-operate.

And the first thought that went through my mind wasn’t about the injury. It was: “Of course. Of course this would happen now” - ughhhh!

Because the truth is, it wasn’t the gin bag that injured me. It was everything that came before it. The months of overtime and extra behind the scenes work to allow time and money for a holiday. Plus the extra physical work completed beforehand just so you don’t come home to a pile sitting there. Treating clients. Making products. Writing/typing/creating content. Running a household and

two businesses solo therefore being responsible, reliable, productive and (my favourite word I love to hate) organized.

Carrying more than I realised, mentally as well as physically, I had been pushing through for so long that resting on holiday wasn’t enough to undo the load.

It just paused it. That moment in the airport taught me something I’ve seen countless times with my clients but hadn’t recognised in myself until that moment: we don’t break because of any final straw - we break because we’ve been carrying too much for too long.

And where I see this on a regular basis is their skin … the skin is often the first place that truth shows up without an apology.

Women rarely realise how loudly their skin speaks. Because before the body complains, and rebels, the skin whispers. A little more redness than usual. A dry patch that wasn’t there last week. Makeup sitting differently. A sudden breakout. A roughness, a dullness, a tired look in the mirror that isn’t caused by lighting or age or incorrect products.

These aren’t cosmetic quirks. They’re messages about stress.

Stress doesn’t announce itself with trumpets. It accumulates quietly. Late nights, emotional stress, physical labour, mental load, dehydration, rushing, coping, coping, coping, often uncomplaining – because let’s face it, who listens (well, unless it’s a good friend over a glass of GnT) because it’s become normalised.

And then one day, your skin reflects all of it in a way you can no longer ignore.

It’s easy to blame age - and many women do - but the aging process isn’t the only villain. Overloading and stress contribute more than we recognise or acknowledge.

Cortisol doesn’t ask your permission before it weakens your skin surface barrier, slows your collagen, tires out your fibroblasts or affects the ability of macrophages to do their job. It simply reacts to the life you’re living. And if the life you’re living is a constant juggling act, your skin will show it long before your mind and body does.

That’s the part no one tells you: your skin is often the most honest part of you. It doesn’t pretend. It doesn’t minimise. It doesn’t “push through.” It reveals exactly how you’re coping, whether you like it or not.

But here’s the hopeful part - skin also recovers the moment life softens, even in small ways. A little more hydration. Sleep that actually counts. Gentle products that care for your skin. A slower rhythm in your evening. Relaxation, less pressure, more belly breathing.

Skin responds to care and kindness the way a plant responds to water - slowly at first, then all at once.

That’s one thing I want to write about in the months ahead - the connection between life and skin, stress and biology, hormones and healing. Not in a way that overwhelms, but in a way that helps women understand why their skin behaves

the way it does, and how they can support it without needing perfection or a twelve-step routine.

Because standing there in duty free with a bag of Gin I could no longer lift, I realised something simple and true: We don’t break because we’re weak. We break because we’ve carried too much, for too long, without putting anything down.

And your skin, bless it, tries to tell you long before the pop comes.

If you learn to listen early, you won’t wait for the breaking point. You’ll recognise the whispers. And you’ll give yourself permission to rest before the weight becomes too much to bear.