I’m not really sure how to write this. Like my mind, this post is sure to be a confused, addled mess. But I feel the need to record some things.
Like shame. Shame that today I screamed at my two year old daughter because she refused to put down J’s juice when I had asked her to what felt like a million times. Shame that I cannot hold back my frustrations and anger when I have battled with two hungry, tired, over-excited, demanding babies all day.
Guilt. That I cry in front of the children, leading H to ask with sad eyes, ‘what’s wrong mummy?’ Guilt that I do not appreciate the blessings I have been showered with. Guilt that I do not cherish their short baby days enough.
Fear. Of the dark cavern that awaits me. One I have trodden before and that I know what lies within. One that I swore I would never ever let myself fall into again.
And hope. Hope that I don’t scar my children. Hope that I can still be the best mum the I can be. Hope that I do not fail my husband; my strong, supportive, ever-loyal husband. Hope that I can hold our family together despite anything that comes at us. Hope that I will one day, in the not-so-distant future, be free of all the ropes that hold me back so tightly every day of my life.
Each and every day I hunt for the light – a small chink of happiness peering through the cavern. I hold onto it like an anchor, keeping me true. Keeping me sane. Keeping me me.