I’m at a meeting in the local community hall. A circle of tired-looking women sit facing one another; our group leader is standing in front of a flip chart. “Anniki, you go next,” she says. I stand up slowly, butterflies in my stomach. “Hello, I am Anniki and I’m exhausted,” I announce to the room.
The women clap but not with much enthusiasm. I look at the flip chart with the words “EXHAUSTED” and “ANONYMOUS” writ large in black marker. I sit back down. I’m in a safe space.
The woman opposite gives me a small thumbs-up and smiles. Each woman has huge bags under her eyes, the tell-tale white parting of serious dry shampoo abuse. Susan, the kindly leader smiles. “Today’s the day we go on strike. The day we stop doing everything for everyone.”
