23/01/2024
My advice, for those who care to listen.
When you feel crap, depressed, sad, overwhelmed, frustrated, fed up…and so on etc and so forth - eat bacon at 11pm, drink pina colada’s from a Christmas glass, don’t wear a bra, listen to a book and DO NOTHING AT ALL. Or whatever your heart desires.
It may be the pina colada in a Christmas glass at 11pm talking, but - f #%k it and do it.
I’m so tired of trying to ‘look’ like I’ve got it all together. To look like I’m strong. Like I’m the selfless, sacrificial lamb to the alter of motherhood and adulthood.
I’m so tired.
I’m tired of feeling like I’ve cut my veins open and draining my life’s blood on to the alter in the name of sacrifice - expected of the maternal figure since the dawn of time.
I’m tired of not being ‘cool enough’. Not being skinny enough. Not having enough. Not BEING enough for the cool kids, the cool mums, for the boys, for the bosses, for me.
Maybe it’s the fact that I am turning 39! this year, facing my last year of my 30’s and that hypothetical other side of the hill I’ll soon be rolling down. But I’m just so tired. And I just don’t care any more.
I’m single. 38. Soon to have my uterus scooped out, taking away a very symbolic figure head of the mainstream view of femininity. And honestly I wouldn’t change any of these elements. Not long ago I would have balked at any one of these facts.
But you know, I think after wading through the sh*t pool of my life, of a failed marriage, 3 abusive consecutive relationships, surviving cancer that kills 87% of its victims, and having a child go through hell with BPD from the age of 10 - my lesson is to just not care about what it looks like to anyone else any more.
Don’t care what the cool kids think about what you’re wearing, that your kids don’t have the iPad - soccer boots - concert tickets - new pool etc.
I don’t care.
I do care about what brings me the little bits of joy. My cute doggo looking at me with unconditional love. My second hand but new to me 9 year old car that make a very cool noise and hen I put my foot on the accelerator. My baby girl telling me that she is so lucky to have me as her mumma, and she loves me so much it makes her cry.
I care that I have boundaries that I won’t compromise on. And once crossed, I don’t falter anymore.
I love that I take my kids to the water and watching them regulate and reset through the healing powers of the energy found in earth and water.
And I love eating bacon and drinking pina coladas on a Tuesday night at 11 pm because it brings me comfort. I love that I don’t care that I may put a few more kilos on, grow my double chin and get some pimples from it, because right now, after a really difficult and exhausting afternoon, it makes me feel so good.
It makes me feel like telling the 15 year old me to stop caring that the boy you love with all your heart, who chose your friend over you again and again, is not worthy of your love.
Telling her to stop trying so hard to make them want to be your friend, to notice you, to love you.
I want to tell her that they don’t matter. They are a tiny blip in your life. That they don’t play a part in your adult life, so please please please love yourself, find your joy and do what makes you happy, not them. Never them, because they don’t love you back as much as you love them.
So my advice - love you. Love you with the abandon of bacon on its own. Pina coladas in the Christmas glass because it’s the only clean glass you can find. Love you - because that is what matters and what will get you through.
I’m still developing this emotional muscle.
It’s hard.
And painful.
But it’s a good sort of pain.
