It had taken my husband five years to get into the police. For the first twenty weeks of the academy, things were unchanged in our home. I brought him cups of tea while he poured over textbooks and I picked up the slack around the house.
Then the shift work started.
He was barely home; and when he was, he was mentally absent, exhausted and distant. The loneliness was creeping in. I felt as though I was on the periphery of his new life.
I started crying all the time.
Communication stopped. Explosive fighting began. He said it was like walking on eggshells at home.
This project explores the personal consequences of shift-work on a marriage. It wasn’t until I started seeking help that I realised how common this is, but not discussed. I hope my story will inadvertently encourage others to do the same.