First time mum/referee to a wild toddler. Self confessed rum enthusiast. Aspiring writer but hell of a procrastinator. Blogging about Mental Health and this motherhood malarkey from a refreshingly honest perspective.

Bad Days - The Mum Edition.



It sucks, doesn't it? When it's all just a bit shit? The day is shit, you feel like shit, your lid came flying off the smoothie blender and now there's shit smeared all over the walls kinda shit? When one bad thing after another smacks you in the face like a parade of pelted snowballs shit. Have you ever had one of those days?

Those really shit days..

My moods and general mental health is not anything new. Nor something I choose to hide anymore.
Because it's my life. It's happening. It will keep on happening.
I'm still at a stage where I don't quite have it under control yet but, in hindsight, I have come a long way.
I just still have a long way to go.

What's a bad day to me?
Sometimes it's the simple every day tasks, that seem like the biggest chore, like asking someone who is crippled to climb a mountain.
It's the dishes unwashed in the sink branding me lazy, unkempt, dirty. 
The utter burden of hopping in for a shower, organizing what to wear, eating breakfast. 
An inner, daily brawl just to drag myself out the front door. The grief of the scripted eight hour bravado.

To want nothing more than to crawl back into bed and sleep just to escape. To feel detached from everyone around me. To go from feeling infinitely invincible, un-bloody-stoppable to crash and feel a weight that suffocates. 

When I have too much time to myself and ponder the days ahead. Two, three, six months from now and I find myself filled with that familiar dread that vows life will still be the same mundane chore. A monotonous routine that we all settle so easily into. Wake up, take a piss, show up to the same 9-5 job you never quit complaining about, assured yourself it would be temporary two years previous, but then fell into the habit, the predictable schedule of it all. Forced conversations, long days. The carrying of a heavy heart.

Tedious. Repetitive.
Robotic.

That I will continue to feel so empty yet so damn heavy. That I'll knowingly recreate past mistakes hoping for a different outcome from the last five times.
Always dreaming of something more, something other than this. To worry one day I'll fall down, and stay down.

I think it can make it feel all the more burdening when you become a parent. The burden being that in not doing so well yourself, that you are letting them down. Not being the best you can be. Need to be.
We have no choice but to suck it up and get on with it. We can't allow the ground to swallow us up no matter how strong the desire.

The feelings don't subside, people still leave and the days will drag but you have a little one counting on you, a joyous wonder and that...
That's a reason.
To get up, to keep going. To trudge on despite the ache. Despite that tiredness that no sleep can cure.

That's the only meaning when everything else means nothing.



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