First-time mum, in training. Blogging about this motherhood malarkey from a refreshingly honest perspective.

Some Days It's Not Enough

Sure, my blog focuses a lot around the hard days. How I found them. How they made me feel or how I managed to overcome or work through them.

But I never write about it during or at the time.
Why?
Because it's too hard. Because I can't muster the words. Because I can't overcome the pain that is smothering me. Because even breathing feels laborious. Because I just can't explain the pain coursing through my body.

Today was one of those days. My first thought when I awoke was, please not today, I can't do it. I can't face it. All I wanted was to go back to bed and let this anguish drown me.

I found myself staring at the clock and wishing time would stand still. Stop. Tick by faster. I don't know.
I felt everything but I felt nothing. I struggled to contain the hysteria building in the pit of my stomach.  My mind that was collapsing under the strain. I wanted to forget. I wanted it all to ease. To not feel so suffocated.
It all felt too much.

There's usually a trigger. Something that impacts my treading moods and makes them dip. But some days are just tough And I can't prepare for them and I don't know when to expect them.

It makes me feel like a shit mum. All I needed was a few hours to myself to wait for the storm to pass. To sleep it off or succumb to it. I couldn't stand the incessant wailing, I felt irritated that today was the day he would moan and whine at every single thing. That he'd cry for me to hold him then cry more when I did. He'd scream if his lunch wasn't put in front of him the instant he was hungry, and then throw it on the floor as soon as I did. That he was bombarding me with demands and complaints and tantrums and nothing I did could appease him. 

Those days are tough. When your fighting yourself. I felt like every emotion, every inch of despair was clogged in my chest, dragging me down. Desperate for some kind of escape.
But there didn't seem to be anyway of releasing the pain. It just consumed. And I let it. Wrapped myself up in it. 

I wish I could identify what I was feeling or how to make it budge. Why, like a light switch, I flicker from one person to the next. Why some days I'm sky rocketing through a cloud of euphoria and glee and others, I'm sinking in quick sand.

I don't understand. I can't. Why it still posses me. Why it still, somehow, manages to paralyze me. It makes me feel an anger I've never known. How I can't suppress it. Can't control it.
Why does it have such power over me?

Before Arthur, this was me. This was all I knew. This was my core.  And I didn't care. Really, I didn't. I acquainted this despair. Made room for the numbness.

When you feel something for so long, in an odd way, it's more scary to know anything different. To not know who, what you would be without it. 

But now, when Arthur is a light, why does the emptiness not cease? Why does this weight drag me down? Why does it cripple and smother and kill me? Why does it not cure the itch? Why doesn't it lift the weight in my chest that drags me down?
That realization hits me the hardest. That pang of guilt. It feels insatiable, this persistent dull ache.
I'm wrestling this thought. Pushing it aside. Wishing it away.
Why does it not feel like enough?

Why does, at times, being a mother feel more like the burden than this infection that poisons. How can I not fight it? Surely, the blessing of being a mother should be enough. Despite the smile that beams from his face. The love that pours out of him. That laugh, that infectious, bellowing laugh that roars from his belly.
Some days it's not enough.
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