I decided a whilst ago that I wanted to document after each counselling session – what was discussed and decided and what topics came about. This is so I have some sort of record of these sessions, as my hazy mind tends to forget the most basic of thought recently.
So today’s session began pretty crap – I scored a 36 on the Edinburgh Test. Whilst some may disregard this as any decent judge on depression, I do rely on it to give me an indication of how I’m doing. Whilst I’m not sure if this is my highest ever score in the ten months of counselling, I know this is over ten points higher than it has been in a LONG time. So of course we started out with why, and there are several good reasons – my dad is not doing so well with his lymphoma, my sister is having a shit time of it and two weeks ago I came off my meds. After trying Citalopram and Prozac I had had enough of six weeks of ups and down with each new drug and then waiting for the side effects and then the disappointment if they didn’t work. So I decided to go it alone, if today’s session was anything to go by, it’s not working.
The conversation then led onto my home life – the children and my husband, in most aspects of which I feel I am failing. I am too tired to do much with the children and they totally drain me. This means I need breaks and sleep. This means Mr H has to pick up much of the slack and after an 11 hour day, hard at work, this is not easy. So Mr H is tired, and drained, and easily gets ill because of this. So then I feel bad, because it is my fault he feels like this, because I’m not doing enough with the children. And so the spiral continues.
It just seems to me right now, to all be my fault, and never-ending and I am completely fed up.
So instead the conversation was led in a different direction – acceptance. Acceptance of my illness, which at the moment I refuse to do. Acceptance that this is our life for right now, which I know Mr H does not want to accept. And the acceptance that I am not the kind of mum that I always thought I would be. And that is the hardest one of all.
So here’s some things I need to deal with:
– I do not like childs’ play. As awful as I feel writing this and as bad a mum as I feel for it, playing with the children bores me. I like to read to them sometimes, I love doing puzzles with H, but any other playtime is just not my thing.
– I cannot run around with them right now. And until I get this tiredness managed I will not be able to. As sad as I am watching everyone else chasing them and hearing their squeals of delight, I will have to watch from the sofa.
– I will miss out on things. Whilst I am upstairs sleeping on Christmas Day there will no doubt be an activity that I will miss, whilst I take the rest I need I am sure there will be milestones that will pass me by. I cannot tell you how much this upsets me.
But instead I will focus on what I can provide. Love, endless amounts of it. Support. Stability. Nurture.
I am not an educator, I am not an imaginative player and I do not have boundless energy. These are not my strengths. As much as I may wish they were. I think it is time to accept that maybe I am just not suited to being a stay-at-home mum like I thought I always was meant to be.
For now I am focusing on getting onto a steady track, managing my tiredness and finding the right medication. After that though, I feel it may be the right time to think about what I need for myself, and maybe that is retraining, or returning to work. I’m not sure what the right path is, but I know my current one just isn’t working. If, at the end of the day, I need to be away from the children to make the most of them then that is the situation I will have to face.
I am very slowly realising I am not supermum. But oh how I wish I was.