Reclaiming Mental Health
Chapter 2 - The line in the Sand
By: Annette Hébert
The Call
A few years later, Mary called from the hospital, "Can you take care of the girls?"
Of course, I said yes. Here I was again, running directly into the storm.
I later learned she'd experienced something traumatic that week and had been spiralling into suicidal thoughts, leading to an extended hospitalization.
We opened the stairwell between our apartments so Susan and Kelly, now nine and eleven respectively, could stay in their rooms but live safely within our home.
During that time, my life quietly began to unravel. I kept moving, caretaking, working, and holding everyone together. I felt needed and purposeful, yet I was disappearing in the process, spreading myself thin and numbing with food and distraction.
Eventually, everything caught up with me. I cried every morning before work. The smallest request from my husband or the girls sent me into a meltdown. My nervous system lived in fight-or-flight, constantly bracing for the next unexpected message or crisis.
It became undeniable: I was burning out again and needed medical leave, another round of collapse I hadn't seen coming.
The Beginning of the End
Mary received a day pass from the hospital, and the girls were thrilled to see her. We walked along the waterfront trail, the air thick with cut grass and river mud. While the girls played out of earshot, she quietly said, "I'm so grateful they'll be taken care of when I'm gone."
The world froze. It took my breath away.
Did I hear her right? Was this her goodbye?
For days, her words looped in my mind. Would I take the girls?
Could I give them, and my own daughter, the life they deserved? And if I said yes, would it feel like giving her permission to leave this world?
As those questions spiralled, my body knew the truth: I couldn't do it anymore. I wanted peace, simplicity, and my own life back. I didn't want to carry anyone else's burden anymore.
That moment cracked something open in me. It forced me to see what I had been refusing to face that I couldn't save her.
Mary stood before me. An awkward silence filled the space between us.
I could barely breathe as I told her, "I won't take the girls."
My voice trembled, but the words were clear. "You're their mom.
They need you. I can't take them."
I felt numb afterward, almost outside myself, but deep down, I knew it was the only choice that honoured both of our souls.
It broke my heart. I lost a soul sister and her beautiful girls that day. The boundary created a rupture that never healed. She moved out, moved on, and eventually moved away. The feeling was familiar. I was abandoned yet again for speaking my truth.
But that boundary also saved me. With space to breathe again, I went back to school and eventually found the path of energy healing and embodied work and a community where I didn't have to be on high alert to belong or to be accepted.
By the way, had she taken her life that summer, I would've taken the girls in a heartbeat.
Excerpted from Chapter 2 "The Line in the Sand" by Annette Hebert
Published in Reclaiming Mental Health Authored by Sarah Sturino
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All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced without permission.