Mark and I are doing really well. When you go through tough times, there’s an obvious strain on your relationship. And if you aren’t already weighted down with your struggles, you have another weight that is pushing and stretching the cord that holds you together, and you try so damn hard to grab hold of that cord and drag yourselves closer to each other, so that fingers may just strain and touch, until you can hold each other and try and make it together.
I don’t know really what I’m trying to say. But just, I know that he is meant for me. He’s everything I could have ever hoped for and I can just look at him and in one glance I feel like I know all I need to know and that I’m home.
As a family, we’ve been having some pretty slow days when we get the chance. We’ve not done anything big or adventurous. I suppose that’s another reason why I’ve struggled to write because I’m not sure anyone would want to know that we went to the park again, or walked around the village pool, feeding the ducks and holding hands.
But, this is what we needed. We spent a lot of time expecting our life to be this way. And it took a long time to get here. And really, adventures have been put on hold because we’ve been on a pretty big one, and sometimes all you want is the everyday ordinary because it’s comforting, like an old pair of pyjamas that you bring out every year, or the smell of the washing powder your mum uses, or the way hot buttered toast and a brew solves just about everything.
One day I would like to come back on here and tell you I’ve done something exciting. Or I’ve made a great recipe. Or that I’ve found the cure for cellulite.
But one of those is definitely not going to happen. And the others – I will get there.
One thing I worry about, and I don’t know if this may come across as strange, but part of me wants to move on now, from the harder times, but then the other part of me isn’t quite ready to shut the door on all of that yet. There are things I would like to write, to purge myself, but also to help parents like me too. I want to move on, and I wonder if sometimes it is okay too? Should I be okay now? Should I still be coming to terms with what happened when I gave birth to my baby? Am I ungrateful? Am I pretending?
I just want to be myself, but, in all honesty – I’m not quite sure who myself is anymore.
I am trying to find myself again. I’ve been doing the strangest things. I’ve tried out all of my old hobbies to see if they are still natural to me. And if they still make me smile. Sometimes I’ll cook, sometimes I’ll sing to myself as I fold washing, sometimes I’ll take care over my makeup and select my clothes with a eye for detail, I’ve been picking up paintbrushes, revamping our house, clearing clutter, playing with cameras, taking photos, shooting film. And then I seem to find myself with many half-done jobs and projects wondering when on earth I’m going to finish them.
I’m also trying to feel like me again. Look like me again. I’d like to get a haircut. I’m trying to lose weight. I’m half a pound of a stone lost now, and that’s amazing. But I have another two to go.
And I have been poorly. I’ve had a cold, which was no real bother really, but I went out last week to an event with some other bloggers, and I felt so faint while I was there that I had to take a moment to sit in a toilet and catch my breath. As it faded, I felt fine, but the next day, I was hit with the start of a UTI, and I have spent the last week in agony. I went to the doctor’s and a sample was sent off to be tested and it has come back clear, and my symptoms are starting to fade, but I’m still not myself.
I’m not myself because I’ve been poorly mentally too. I have.
I don’t like saying that because I’m all too aware of how lucky I am. And it feels like that has to be a prerequisite for everything. I love my children. Daisy did not ruin my life and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. In fact, one day I will purposefully try and do it in a heartbeat as I have a 50% chance of my syndrome passing on to any baby I carry. The fact of whether or not I’m grateful is not even something to question.
But I have found the last six months incredibly hard.
I’ve watched many lives fly past me, from what feels like the sidelines. And, honestly, putting my world on the internet, amongst everyone else’s worlds, was just too hard. It was too grass is greener. It was too much. And I couldn’t differentiate between real life, or the parts we save for Instagram.
And I just felt lost. I’ve been flaky. I’ve been introverted. Distant. I’ve avoided situations. I’ve said “no” more times than I can count. I’ve cried. I’ve panicked. And I’ve felt anxious. I’ve compared myself to others constantly. I’ve been jealous. I’ve wanted to shout and stamp: “It’s not fair.”
And it hasn’t been fair. And I don’t want to worry anymore if I should be apologising for how I feel, or be more sensitive, or think of that “there are people far worse off that you” saying that everyone says. Because it’s torture. I know all of this. And I am the first one to mentally shake myself and tell myself to grow up and snap out of it.
But I am still here. I am still me. I just need to do what I need to do to keep myself happy at the moment. And that sometimes involves disappearing, hibernating, taking it slow, and avoiding the things that make me feel worse.
And if sometimes that means I have to let things go, and fall by the wayside. And I have to fall behind sometimes. Then I will do. Especially if I am sat here, like I am now, at twenty minutes past midnight trying to get the words right when I should be sleeping.
And that’s just it.
I’m slowly realising that, after living all of my life for tomorrow, I’ve forgotten how kind, beautiful, and simple today can be, if I slow down, stop worrying, and see what’s happening right now.
“There’s only us. There’s only this. Forget regret, or life is yours to miss. No other road, no other way. No day but today.”