I feel like a fraud writing this post, like the friend who went off the radar for months returning only when she felt like it, for reassurance and cuddles before slipping back off into her selfish little world, until the next time she was at her lowest ebb and required an output for her built up stress. I’ve thought often about posting updates of my totally fucked up life daily but to be honest I’ve felt embarrassed. Embarrassed that despite my old posts about kicking depressions ass, and all of my previous plans full of joy and optimism, I’ve managed to somehow end up back there. Back in the days that feel like months and seem so full of darkness and complete hopelessness that getting out of bed feels like running a marathon.
This post will not be one of doom and gloom (I know I kinda set the tone already, but I will switch it up I promise) and I know that in some ways I am so so lucky, don’t mistake my moaning for an ungrateful attitude. I have my boys, the pin prick of light that makes me move my lead like legs in a morning and jump out of bed like nothing is wrong, pushing aside the sick feeling in my stomach. “Fake it til’ you make it.” And all that jazz.
But the truth is the past few months have been the worst ever. I’ve posted before about the relationship breakdown so I won’t go into it again, what I’ve not really mentioned is the rest of the shit that goes with it.
The problem with being a woman in the break up is that you’re left with all of the shit. No I’m not reffering to the boys, they have been the things stopping me losing my shit, I’m talking about finding a way to work without leaving your toddler at home alone playing with the oven, finding a way to keep the kids lives as close to before as possible, trying to juggle work, the boys hobbies and classes, remembering to feed everyone, housework, you know all of the standard shit.
The standard shit that the main carer has to deal with while the other one decides whether or not to get a job and help you out financially and if said job could slot in around the one night a week he/she has the kids. Bitter? Nope not at all!
My life before was far from perfect, I was in a loveless relationship with someone who towards the end I couldn’t even stand the sight of, I was far from minted, the kids where still hard work feral little beasts and working nights still sucked. But it was somehow manageable. Now it doesn’t feel doable at all!
Thomas misses his swimming lesson at least once every other week, usually because I can’t stand the thought of the fight it takes to get him there, I don’t have the time or the energy to force him to tidy his room anymore so it currently resembles a scene from hacksaw ridge and quite frankly if I stand on one more piece of lego, that has made its way out of his hell hole and onto the landing/stairs/bathroom floor, I am going to actually have a fire in the garden and burn everything that is plastic and hard in this house.
Henry misses his daddy and asks for him everytime I tell him off, usually for hitting his brother, or the cat, or usually both. Who knew at two they knew exactly how to play you and make you feel like the worst parent ever.
All in all some days I just feel like a failure. A failure as a parent and a failure at life in general. The things that before I didn’t have to worry about, for example where am I going to live next month, are now extra stress and worry. My head is pretty much constantly up my arse. Finding time to sit and tell the world about how shit I am at adulting felt both impossible and completely daunting.
Yet today I felt like I needed to get back to it. To take an hour to write and make myself feel better.
Yesterday afternoon the health visitor came, I completely forgot that she had rearranged for yesterday and typically it was the one bloody day I hadn’t spent Henry’s nap time running around cleaning like a crazy lady. My house was a total mess, henry has a lovely big bruise on his head from an accident with daddy, he fell asleep half way through lunch so I obviously didn’t risk wiping his face, I mean come on nap time is sacred right?!.
Henry was still asleep when she arrived and despite my subtle attempts to pick up random bits of hodor fluff and crumbs from the carpet there was no escaping my clean washing on the table, breakfast dishes in the kitchen sink, the kids pjs from the night before on the living room floor and the unorganised cushions. I was mortified and then while Henry slept she asked about me… Alarm bells rang in my ears, I had to be honest about my depression, about being signed off work, about everything. I was sure she thought I was incapable of looking after my boys. Anyone with anxiety will know how quickly your brain comes up with a million different scenarios, but she didn’t seem to judge me, she told me how impressed she was with how well I was coping. She reassured me that I was doing a good job and she even gave me the name of her friend that could help with my housing problems.
Luckily Henry the super geek woke up and after quickly and not so subtly baby wiping the beans from around his mouth he used the potty, counted for her, charmed her with his completely cheeky smile and demonstrated (to me as well as the health visitor) that he was a happy, healthy intelligent kid, and that whatever my problems, I am a bloody good mother.
So here are the positives.
I have been offered a place at college to study access to social work, I start in September.
Thomas is getting better and better in school, he is no longer behind in anything and is really into his sport. He is still the kid that can make me smile and laugh on days when I think my face has forgotten how.
Henry has potty trained, it was much easier than when Thomas did it (thank God!) so no more nappies wahoo! He is pretty much a genius, colours, shapes, numbers, he just loves it. He is still the cutest kid I know. Those ginger curls though! 😻
I guess with everything that has happened I haven’t had time for myself. Time to grieve the end of my relationship, time to breathe, time to just think. I’m still not sure I’ve done it to be honest, and it catches up. Running away from things is just putting off the inevitable. Some feelings need to be felt and depression just waits silently until your feeling vulnerable or you’ve held things in too long and pounces. It’s rough, but tomorrow is always a new start.