Facing Facts

This week has been, well, pretty grotty. Not terrible, not dramatic, but not exactly wonderful either. I feel like I’ve been firefighting and I thought I was getting away with it until today when I got the phonecall about a meeting I didn’t show up to. Not a meeting for me, no, that would be too easy.  A meeting where I was supposed to be helping someone else, another parent having a hard time, and I had completely and utterly forgotten about it. And the guilt hit me head on like a truck.

I briefly wallowed in self pity. Then I tried running away (well, into town, chatting to the nice stall holders at the farmers market, same difference). Then I tried justifying to myself why it was not my fault I’d done this. Going over all  the rubbish things that had happened this week that had led to this almighty fuck up. I thought I was being compassionate, not beating myself up for an honest mistake. Then, bam, I got hit again. This time with a phrase I said to my daughter this morning, that can straight back into my mind and reverberated between my ears. When I was trying to talk to her about something she’d done wrong and she was too busy explaining all the things her brother had done wrong to listen to me, I said “if you don’t admit to yourself what you’ve done wrong, you won’t learn to make better choices next time”.

Shit, that was what I was doing. Blaming others, pointing out their mistakes and flaws to myself rather than facing up to my own failings.

I started trying to compose a post in my head, but every which way I tried what was supposed to be about what I had done wrong, started turning into a list of other things that had gone wrong to justify it. However much I tried, the order of the words swapped around (“because of X, I did Y”, “I did Y, because of X”), but the blame shifting continued.

So, I think I have now, finally, got to a point now where I can say, without justification, that my behaviour has been less than stellar this week. My main issue, was downloading an e reader onto my laptop. A fairly harmless crime you might think, but I’ve always been a binge reader and spending a few days obsessively reading a trilogy into the wee small hours has been pretty selfish with knock on effects for everyone. Yes, a bit of escapism is good the soul, especially when things are a bit tough,  but when the morning routine is being a problem for the whole family, struggling to drag yourself out of bed from lack of sleep as you were reading until 3am is not a good place to be in. When tempers are frayed and boundaries are being pushed, having constant background headaches from accumulative lack of sleep is distinctly not a good idea. When the housework is taking longer than usual (one of the issues we have is being without a working boiler at present, and the no hot water aspect of this is a real drag), sitting in bed reading a book rather than cracking on with it doesn’t help. And when you’re feeling frustrated at (fairly minor) communication issues with your partner, turning all your attention to a screen and blocking them out isn’t wise.

In short, I, A is for, have been rather selfish this week.

I’m quite pleased that I have got to the point of admitting that, of being able to write it without a how list of justifications why it’s not my fault. It feels like it has to be the first step to moving on. That I’m finally getting somewhere.

The next step is still proving a little elusive. OK, the “stop reading all the time” step is pretty obvious, but how to discuss this issue with  my other half is a little harder. I think I’m ready to say sorry and fess up, it feels like the right thing to do, but I’m wary that the answer might well be along the lines of “yes, you have been selfish” with a possible extra list of things I’ve done wrong that I’d omitted to mention. That has been known to happen in the past. And I’m pretty sure that will just make me cross and lash out, with my own list of failings for him in return, just like I have in the past.  The thing is, what I want is a “sorry, I’ve been less than stellar too” response of some description, but that’s not how it works is it. It’s not really saying sorry if what you actually want is to trade apologies. Sorry should come with no strings attached.

So, maybe, instead of saying sorry, I just need to say that I’m aware of my failings and that I’m going to try and change them. And maybe I need to say it to the whole family, which will make it less personal than a one on one with my other half.

I haven’t finished working out the details yet, but I do feel that I’m starting to get somewhere. And then maybe I can face that big lurking stack of guilt in my head, rather than shutting it away to lurk in my brain and stoke my anxiety in future.


A little outpouring on how I need to pull myself up by my own bootstraps

Hi there, fancy reading a random synopsis of my mental health week?  I won’t blame you if the answer’s no, but writing it helps clear my head at least, so here we go.

I’ve been caught up in another whirl of self caused sleep disturbing letting people down racked with guilt but unable to deal with it so therefore making it worse anxiety this week. (Hmm, not sure if that even makes sense but that’s probably pretty fitting cos anxiety doesn’t). Combined with hormones and stomach cramps. Nice. It actually hasn’t been too bad, I guess because overall I’ve been better recently. Oh, apart from the nasty images flashing through my head occasionally, them I’m not so keen on, but I’m not really in a place to deal with that right now. I’ve had to chunk anxiety related stuff up into miniscule steps to deal with it and took days doing the first step. I haven’t been even talking to my other half about it as he’s slowly recovering from a traffic accident a few weeks ago (nothing too major, but painful and a temporary big change to his mobility). I guess he can probably tell something is a little off, but we haven’t had time to talk.  So I’ve been dealing with this alone. Or rather, trying to deal with this. Oh, my coping strategies are so absolutely rubbish and yet so hard to change (talk, to an actual real life person, about my issues, you have to be joking right?).

It’s been hard to find time to do stuff (including talking to my other half) as the kids are off school this week. The only way I can get peace from them is to plug them into the computer, that very computer I need to sort the anxiety inducing things out. Technically there’s also evenings. Sleep routines have been better around here lately, partly due to pushing the kids bedtime back a bit, so now it’s usually 9pm or thereabouts by the time we get them settled in bed. This routine starts at 7.30. An hour and a half of time (mainly mine at the moment) to settle kids at night seems a lot at their age (8 1/2 and 7), I’m trying to get less involved with the initial pajama’s/teeth etc bit as they should be able to do that now, but it’s a risky path to take and leaving them unsupervised can lead to chaos. (The boy in particular is so unpredictable. He can get himself ready in 5 mins unaided. Or you can have to stand over him for half an hour saying “pajama’s, put your pajama’s on, no, don’t pick up that book, it’s pajama’s time” etc if you are to stand any chance of him getting in his pajama’s).  My point being, by the time I come downstairs its 9pm I need a sit down. Which turns into 2 hours on the computer, I’m shattered and the washing up isn’t even started from dinner time, leaving a do now and have even less sleep choice or leave it till the morning. Anyway, one way or another, not much sorting out seems to happen in the evenings.

I tried the mornings. It should work, shouldn’t it. I steeled myself to wake before the kids. I woke several times in the night to check the time. By 6.30 when I was going to get up and do stuff I was a tired nervous wreck who just wanted to hide from the world under the duvet. Hmm,  not good either.

So, this evening I had resolved (once again, I’m good at thinking up resolutions, less good at sticking to them) to try and shuffle a little further forward with the progress I made, when I realised how bad my other half was feeling. I had picked up some signals earlier but was too caught up in my own stuff to work it out properly and too busy to find out more. Anyway, turns out he’s stressed out about going back to work part time on Monday, about the lack of support and understanding at work, about how work had been going before the accident, about the forms for the solicitor regarding the accident.  I tried to listen properly, to give that some space. I tried to help. I’m not sure how good I did at either. And I did nothing from my Anxiety To Do list.

What a pair we make.

So, next week, kids back at school, other half is supposed to be going into work 4 hours a day, which will make him shattered, let alone the two bus rides on crutches he’ll need to get there/back, it’s the girls birthday and party at the weekend, I don’t feel at all organised and then there’s my guilty little pile of stuff I should have been doing but haven’t that now feels to big to sort out and is threatening to bite me on the bum.

I think I may need a plan. I’m guessing hiding under the duvet in the mornings hoping it wont happen and then busying myself with housework all day to try and block out the guilt, being crotchety and impatient with the kids, staying up too late on the internet/sewing and then not getting enough sleep is not a good plan. Which is a shame because it’s my default habit.

So, what do I need to do to come up with a plan, hmm.

To Do List:

1) Work out enough of my to do list to proceed to point 2 without becoming so overwhelmed at the amount of stuff I haven’t done and how crap I am that I retreat under duvet for next 3 years.

2) Prioritise to do list

3) Work out realistically what there is time to do this week

4) Do the maximum amount of top priority things without burning out

5) feel better for starting to get somewhere

6) Go back to 1 and keep repeating until Competent Adult Status is reached.

And now?  Now it’s nearly 1am, and I am too tired to start, so I need to turn off this machine and go to bed now. There’s always tomorrow to make a start right. What could possibly go wrong?


Half an hour of internet surfing in the small hours later and the first thing that could go wrong already has. However, to prove I’m not completely rubbish, I’ve just remembered the last 2 of my stash of unopened kids magazines, which I shall leave for them to find in the morning, sometimes this trick buys me an extra hour in bed. I’d cross my fingers but I don’t believe in being superstitious. I shall try it with my new “leave some apple rings in tupperwear” trick, in a bid to counteract the effects of a Boy Who Needs Breakfast (trust me, it’s not pretty and by the time he gets in that state getting breakfast into him can be less than straightforward).

Dear Brain

Dear Brain,

I like you, I really do, in fact you’re all I’ve got, so don’t take this the wrong way, but…

You really are stupid.

Sorry to be blunt, but there’s no other word for it. How else can you keep doing things that you know are bad for you.

I could list many things here (eating habits, sleeping habits, general tidyness and organisation) but I think we both know what I’m talking about.

The little cycle of “oh, I’ve not done that quite as quickly as I’d’ve liked / I don’t have time to do it to my exacting high standards right now so I’ll not do it and then pretend I’m not thinking about it and then worry about letting people down and then catasrophise what’s going to happen as I’ve not done it so try and ignore it some more and then worry about how much they must hate me some more and so try and ignore it more and then …… etc, all the while, the stomach twisting guilt and anxiety is gnawing a hole in your stomach that grows bigger however much you try and ignore it, popping up in all aspects of your life, making you grumpy and irritable, flashing horrid things in your mind, making the task in hand harder to face, until when you finally do decide to face it you have to build up to it in small stages, dragging things out further, like a plaster being slowly ripped off” and then eventually, you do it, and guess what, it wasn’t that big a deal. And you resolve not to get in this pickle again. But you do. Over and over and over again. And sometimes you never do the thing and the person in question forgets all about it but it just adds to the pile of unnamed worry growing in the corner of your mind that gives you those mornings when you wake up with a pit in your stomach and just want to hide under the duvet until the world goes away.

So, dear you. Please change this appalling useless habit of yours before either a real catasrophe happens or you worry your life away. We both know it’s for the best. Love me x

Date Night 0 Anxiety 1

Today has not been great. I don’t want to overdramatize it, it hasn’t been that bad either, just one of those Could Do Better days.

Werewolf Mum has made an appearence twice. The first time she was worn down by kids that wouldn’t do as they were told, or listen at all, or not interrupt, or indeed actually appear to pay attention whilst she told them off. Of course, you and I may know that kids with Aspergers can find making eye contact difficult, or not fidgeting whilst you talk to them difficult, or understanding when and what to say difficult (if I had more energy I’d put an appropriate link in here, but tinternet is not making life easy for me). However Werewolf Mum does not make allowances for such things in a suspected Aspie child, she just gets cross. Needless to say her methods are not that effective.

The second time she made a fleeting appearence after being goaded by a boy who was cross that his mum had interrupted him, (I’m pretty sure he stopped talking, a commonly understood sign that you’re ending your turn in the conversation) and kept complaining about such, but when given ample space to speak actually said nothing at all, until someone else tried to speak, at which point he was upset at being interrupted all over again. After a few quite vocal circles of this as we approached the house, she had the sense to send him to read a few pages of his library book, which of course bought her an hour of peace (as he cannot stop part way through a book) and enabled her to transform back into human form.

I also managed to cook proper food for dinner*, yay. Despite both children turning up partway through and insisting on helping. Which is always hard work. That alone I coped with ok, the phone call on top of it from an unknown number was a bit much – I didn’t recognise the number so I didn’t answer it. Then they phoned my mobile. Eghads. However, I’m a lot better than I was around this time last year, I didn’t descend into utter panic, I even listened to the answerphone message. And discovered it was a workman trying to rearrange when he was coming at the last minute. I put that on the metaphorical low level back burner of stress whilst trying to cook a two course meal (with help) but did manage to deal with it once hubby was home. Which involved two phonecalls. One to try and rearrange something (no go) and the other to phone the workman and say we had to stick to the agreed plan. He sounded disappointed. Cue me feeling guilty and bad about letting down a workman trying to rearrange things at the 11th hour. Quite guilty. More ongoing background anxiety.

I also had a text message invite to see friends. Which is nice. The problem being, of the 4 days they suggested, the only possible one for me is tomorrow. Which is kind of short notice. And it would involve a lot of travel time. So after we got the kids to bed I was surfing the internet looking at travel options and trying to find a way of having a nice day out without spending 5 hours+ travelling (round trip) and leaving earlier than a school day (half term holidays around these parts this week). And second guessing if I’d get another chance as they’re about to move. In the end I decided no, after a day like today it really wasn’t advisible and let my friends know. But reaching that decision was stressful.

Meanwhile hubby is remembering our decision to have a mini date night in tonight (which we agreed as it seemed to be about the best we’d manage this week). He got his guitar out but instead of joining him I was stuck behind the computer feeling unable to make a decision. And then I was feeling agitated and anxious. Of course it took him a while to work this out as my communication skills were not at their best.

So now we have abandoned the mini date night we so desperately need and I’ve gone to bed at a reasonable time which apparently it’s quite easy to see I need just by looking at me. So here I am, lights on, typing away. Incorrigable eh? In my defence, writing it down, I see that my coping was better than it felt at the time, so maybe there’s hope for me yet.


*For those interested in the Mental Health Blog Cook A Long Tour todays dinner was tomato and cheese quiche with potato wedges, carrots and broad beans followed by rhubarb and apple crumble and yoghurt. We also have some jam tarts made from left over pastry from the quiche. And I managed to use up quite a few ingredients that have been knocking around for a while, which is good, as I hate having to throw things away. The children helped beat eggs, grease dishes, chop apple, sprinkle sugar, weigh ingredients, use a food processor, cut carrots, pod broad beans, cut jam tarts out and fill them with jam. Oh and lay the table and serve (but I made hubby supervise that as I’d had enough by then).

I am a fraud

I’ve been meaning to write this post in a while. Everytime I write a post or read someone else’s blog about their mental health or comment on their blog a little narrative pops into my head. I suspet Fi would call in Bitchface talking. You may call it something else. Anyway, it seems right to get it written down, then maybe I can move on…

My confession. I am a fraud. I have no right to write this blog. You should not be reading it. You would be disgusted if you knew what a fraud I am. I am not on any medication, I have never been admitted to hospital, I don’t have an official diagnosis, the one time I saw the doctor about my anxiety he had a little chat and sent me home. I cause my own problems by being so disorganised and then make them worse by running from them instead of facing up to them and then I have the audacity to call this anxiety. I am an insult to all those brave bloggers who have genuine and serious problems and are working hard to cope and make their lives better whilst challenging stigma, raising awareness and campaigning. I am lazy and whiny.

There, I think that’s about it, I may have left something out but you get the general gist and it’s of my cheast. Feel free to be utterly disgusted and never read this blog again.

So why am I still writing rather than hanging my head in shame, shutting down the internet and doing some long overdue cleaning and paperwork? Well, there is always another side to the story. I find it really easy to read other peoples blogs and fill with compasion and write (over)long comments about how they need to ease up on themselves and cut themselves a little slack. So I guess I should do the same for myself. Unsurprisingly, this counternarrative of myself is harder to write, but time to stop the prevaracating….

I am not a fraud. I have never claimed to be more seriously ill than I am, to be on medication I’m not on. Mental health issues are not a competative sport. The experiences I write about are real. Yes, this blog does give a twisted view of my life, seeing as how it focuses on the problems I have with anxiety when my life is so much more, but that’s the point. To think about the anxiety, be aware of it, stop forgetting about it on my good days/weeks, disect it, unpack it, find strategies to do stuff better. And whilst it isn’t my whole life, it is a part of it, sometimes far too large a part. Last summer I nearly went back to the gp after hubby pointed out that if I was in paid work I would be off sick and have had to gone to see the gp already. (I put it off 2 weeks until school started to ease childcare/gp issues and then got on an upswing so changed my mind). And I need to get used to the idea that it’s a big part of the reason that I left my last “proper” job to be a full time parent, even though it wasn’t officially on the list. There are other ways it’s impacted my life, but I’m not up to a list right now (that last one was hard enough). No, I’m not writing an amazingly inspiring blog that is stigma busting, awareness raising and campaigning. I probably never will, but then hey, no one has to read it if they don’t want to. And right now I don’t think I could if I wanted to, because I can’t even talk to anyone face to face about this apart from my husband and that communication is patchy at best.

I think the real reason I started writing this blog is because I couldn’t find one I related to. Neither the GP nor I think I’m depressed (which is good), so as interesting as some of the blogs about living with depression are, I don’t completely relate to them. And I don’t have social anxiety, I’m not anxious about talking to people face to face (unless I think I’ve let them down) or going out in public (OK, I was once really anxious about walking through town, because I was convinced I was going to bump into one of the people that I was sure I’d let down and so was avoiding, but that’s not normal for me). I think I have Generalised Anxiety Disorder. Actually what I have is something bad enough to periodically cause knots of anxiety so big in my stomach that they skew my thinking and ability to cope and generally screw up my life and my sleeping patterns and make me cranky and shortempered (sorry family) and yet mild enough to pretend its not there the rest of the time, hide it from the world (fairly successfully I think (although how should I know) apart from infuriating people who are trying to get in contact with me at the wrong time and presumably think I’m really badly disorganised or just plain rude) and generally pull off an act of being a fairly functioning member of society.

Insanity is hereditary, you get it from your kids.

That flippant headline is a favourite quip of my big brothers. Some thoughts about my mental well being and my children and being a parent have been bouncing around in my head for a few days, despite my best efforts to ignore them and I’d like to get them straight.

This is quite hard for me. Firstly, like most people, I like to split my subjects into seperate boxes and rootle through them seperately. This is a natural human tendency, we simplify thing to make sense of them. Thinking about more than one thing at once is hard. Thinking about the links, relationships, interractions, causes and effects between two or more things is really hard, it adds several orders of complication. Now I have loopy knotted strings, like a spaghetti fight in the London Underground Map, joining up and going around and through my seperate subject boxes. Taking a step back from myself and trying to think about these things in a way approaching impartial, well lets just say it’s a worthy if impossible aim.

But those things are true to some extent about any bunch of subjects. My mental health, my children and being a parent are not any old subjects, they’re biggies.

Thinking about my mental health is difficult for me, full stop. Who am I kidding, thinking “me” and “mental health” at the same time is really is hard, let alone writing them in the same sentance. Lets just call this a work in progress.

Then there is what my husband termed “Mother Guilt”. I’m sure it’s not exclusive to mothers, but in my experience they seem to be it’s natural breeding ground. It has many manisfestations, some more subtle than others, and many sources, internal,peers, professionals, media, but it boils down to a feeling that you’re not doing it good enough,that you should do better, that you’re letting the children down.

I’m not saying I condone it, I’m all for “Good Enough” parenting, but it is endemic in the atmosphere and for now I’m just acknowledging that it’s there and it makes thinking about this topic harder.

So, with all those problems in mind, what do I think about my mental state and my children? Firstly, I’m very lucky, I did not have Post Natal Depression with either of my two. I found having a baby relatively easy, if with all the expected drawbacks of lack of sleep etc. It came with basic instructions, if it cried you changed what you were doing until stopped. And I’m lucky enough to live in a society where I was allowed, expected and encouraged to focus on doing just that, keeping the baby happy.

Two very small children is harder than one, but doable, although my job plus two children under 3 quickly failed the cost benefit analysis, but enough of that for now.

I guess what I’m skirting around / building up to is how much does my relationship with my children effect my mental health and visa versa.

A few weeks ago This is How it Feels by the Inspiral Carpets came on the radio. I guess I was familiar with the song, a blast from the past, but had never really thought about the lyrics. The tune is even quite upbeat. But as I heard the opening lines “Husband don’t know what he’s done. Kids don’t know what’s wrong with mum. She can’t say, they can’t see,” I burst into tears. I don’t know what they’re intended to mean, but they summed up me on a bad day.

I don’t want to contemplate what my kids percieve about my mental health though. Oh the worrying implications and Mother Guilt there. Nope, not ready for that. Hmm, this post is turning into a list of things I’m not even going to think about, let alone write about, at the moment.

I think that I am ready to admit that sometimes it feels like my kids drive me crazy. I don’t know how much their behavoir triggers mine (she types bravely resisting the Guilt at the implication her children may in some way be partly responsible for her problems) and how much my mental state impairs my ability to cope with their behavoir. I suspect it’s a bit of both.

I was wittering on before about babies being relatively easy. It’s not that infant school kids are any easier or harder necerssarrily (different granted), but expectations change. Others expectations change for a start. It is generally expected that babies are tiring and hard work and people ask how you are, offer sympathy and unsolicited advice and if you’re lucky bring you a meal or some chocolate. By the time they’re at school it’s generally expected that you should be able to cope with them. After all you’ve had several years experience. Sure you get asked about how they’re coping with school etc and are expected to moan about a few things, but it’s no longer expected to be an exhausting potentially ovetwhelming task. And now, if they have undesirable behavoir such as sleep issues, there’s a bit less sympathy and acceptence that that is the bad hand fate has given you and a bit more of a feeling that it’s your own fault for not dealing with it properly, for letting it happen. The honeymoon period is over, the novelty has worn off, the sympathy has run out.

Your own expectations change too. I think most people realise when their baby is due that things will be different, that it will take over their life. But slowly you aquire a small personn with growing independence and you start to want some payback for all your hardwork. Once someone can get themselves dressed you expect them too. Unfortunately small children have a different agenda and being reasonable isn’t on it. It’s so much more frustrating doing things for someone who could do it themselves but chooses not to than for someone who can’t.

And then their expectations develope and change and get expressed better and louder.

I realise I’ve gone all third personey and vague. Back to my house. One of my main problems is listening. Our family is bad at it. People walk off as you’re talking to them. They don’t answer. They mumble and when asked to repeat themselves they shout angrily. They interrupt you mid sentance, regardless of if you’re talking to them or someone else. They answer for someone else. And it all drives me to distraction.

I have figured out some of the reason why. I am trying to project manage and team manage and yet I’m not allowed to communicate effectively. Maybe that sounds a bit grand. But enter our house after breakfast on a school day. I have to get 3 people out of the house on time. First I have to remember what tasks this involves. Most of it is rather basic, each of us need to clean our teeth and put our shoes and coats on etc. Then there’s the extras like remembering child A needs to take a packed lunch and child B needs to take their library book. Ok, so far so good. But I have to tell them what they need to do. In theory they should know most of it but in practise they are very far from reliable. So, I have 3 seperate task lists in my head, I have to jiggle the orders round (so 2 people aren’t trying to go to the toilet at the same time, but I’m there to supervise teeth brushing etc), and give them their orders one at a time (as they can’t reliably remember more than that), keep track of whose supposed to be doing what, check they haven’t got distracted, remind them if they have and do what I’m suppose to be doing at the same time. Is it starting to sound more complicated yet? I can’t do this sequentially, it has to be in parallel as a), we simply wouldn’t have time and b), they don’t sit still and do nothing whilst you’re dealing with a different one. So, as I’m trying to do this everytime I need to tell them what to do next or check they’re doing it I have to repeat myself several times, get interrupted and struggle to get answers. It really hampers me. I lose my place in my complicated to do list. I lose my ability to think straight. And unlike a stressful job I don’t get to go home after a shift, this is home. After a while it builds up and underminds my ability to cope (or maybe my unability to cope lets it build up?).

And then there’s the noise. If you know Dr Seuess’s One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish you may remember “I do not like this one so well, all he does is yell yell yell. I do not like this one about. When he comes in I put him out.

Yell Yell Yell by Dr Seuess

Well, that’s my son. Wherever he is and whatever he is doing I can hear him. Shouting, stamping, banging, yeodelling, asking questions, screaming, tapping, etc.  He’s less, “I think therefore I am” more “I am heard therefore I am”. And it takes up all the space in my head for thinking and I struggle to hold my 3 task lists in my head, let alone to try the difficult job of communicating.

So, that is me on a bad day. But also, my kids keep me sane, they really do. Because as well as all the soppy reasons about how much they mean to me and how I enjoy their company, when I am stressed and anxious and avoiding things that all melts away when I’m with them. Because they live in the moment I can too. And I can cope with the moment. My dread is the future and what might be and dealing with adults and phone calls and emails and they don’t expect me to do that. I can help with lego and do up buttons and read stories just fine, I’m quite good at that sort of thing.

One thing I have realised recently is that in the past, i.e. before kids, I had a tendency to impulsively get away from it all from time to time. Whether it be hoping on a train to stay with a friend for the weekend after a quick phone call (in my pre husband days), or going for a walk at 9.30pm, I could “run away” when I felt like it (within reason and job/money constraints etc). I’m not aware that I was running away from issues as such, but looking back I think I used it as a safety valve to stop things getting to much. And of course with two small ones it is very hard to find some time for myself, let alone spontaneous crazy running away time for myself. There are too many constraints of school pick ups and bed times and not leaving them alone and all the other things.

I’m not sure this post has a conclusion. I don’t think I’m even trying to look for answers. I’m more trying to understand and accept how things are. I think that is enough for now.