Today I am myself.
I am tired. I am stretched. Yesterday I lost it because my child wouldn’t go to sleep. All day long I tried to get her to go to sleep and all day long she fought me like the stubborn little soul she is. I’d say, Bo you need to go to sleep, through gritted teeth and weary eyes, Mama has to work/eat/sleep/cry/shower. She looked at me with those big dark pools for eyes, staring me down, No, she said shaking her head, No.
She’s a determined little creature.
I lost it and I cried and I fell apart. I am not perfect. There are days when it get to three o’clock in the afternoon and I wish that the day was over. I wish that I could lay in a hot bath and forget about the world. I wish that my work was done and my uni papers were written and those emails had been responded to. I wish that the kitchen was clean and the washing was done and the world was back in line. But it’s not, dishes are left dirty, projects are left unfinished, and sanity left long ago – because there we are, in our little room in the back of the house, waging a war on toddler sleeplessness.
Today, I am myself.
I am tired. Today I am going to the doctor to talk about getting counseling. Counseling I have been putting off in the hope that perhaps I’ll wake up one day and all that crazy awful summer we just had, was really just a dream. But every morning when I wake, it’s the same. It’s just us. He isn’t here. He doesn’t call. He doesn’t hold my hand or kiss my head or tell me that he loves me. He doesn’t make me tea or take Bo for a walk or laugh with us or draw with us or hold us when we hurt. He doesn’t do any of those things, because he is gone. And as not-ok-with-that as I am, I am also OK (enough) with it. I’m not angry anymore. I’m not even all that sad. But I do have residual grief. Little pangs of moments where I think of how different it could have been. How different it was meant to be. Some days I’m happy and I feel like I’ve got it together, other days I’m just numb, and other days, like yesterday, I’m stretched to my very limit and I can’t help but curse him under my breath. Curse him for not choosing us. And so I breathe it in and then I let it go. I let it go. Because holding on, isn’t any good for us. Holding on doesn’t help. And so I search for help. Help to let go of the little things I still hold on to. Help to understand all of the things that I know. That I am worth it. That I deserve more. That I deserve love. Help to understand who I am in all of this mess I’m left to clean up. Help to find myself again in all of this.Help to find a new direction.
There is no shame in asking for help.
There is no shame in recognising that you can’t do it all yourself. And I’ve put it off until now. But it is time. It is time for me to heal and move forward and embrace that beautiful life that I have always been chasing. The pursuit of happiness hit a bump in the road, and this is my way back. There are a thousand things I want to do and a million unrealised dreams and so much fire inside me. But right now I have to do what each of us need to do every day. Just start where we are.
So I start where I am today.
Today, I am myself. In all my imperfection. In my shorter-than-I’d-like-it-to-be fuse. In my messy hair and unfashionable clothes. In my darker moments and also in my light.Because in the end of the darkness, I can see such incredible light. In myself. In my girl. In our future.
Be yourself; everyone else is already taken – Oscar Wilde.
Today I am myself.
Who are you today?