The house move was a huge deal and the joy of finding new space for our son to access has been amazing, but there was a pressure of maintaining a unsaid promise to the previous owners to keep things perfect in the garden, a role I took very seriously as they reminded me of lost loved ones. Inside the bungalow I was struggling to make a 1992 interior feel like our home, like my comfy small slipper house I had left behind. I know it is only paint and paper, but with the garden such a marker from the previous family I knew this was the way to make it ours but we never seemed to find time... I found this hard. We lived here but I did not feel like we belonged.
There was also the school transfer to secondary, which has been the best choice for our son, but it came (as expected) with challenges which have taken time to iron out. Looking back and if I am honest with myself, despite knowing it was right, admitting openly that we needed a SEN placement took a long time to come to terms with despite the smiles and the ‘we are so lucky’ pleasantries I perfected.
Everything has just felt foggy... at as time when I should have been at my happiest.
It is hard to explain that you have been lost when you don’t realise it yourself, but those close to me have been super patient and generally wonderful over the past year as I have quietly unravelled, rolling me the other way to keep me as bundled up as possible. I know it has not been easy for them and challenging at times (to say the least).
But there is a shift in the air, I can even pin point the moment things felt ready to change and I finally feel motivated again. I feel ready to do things our way now and a lick of paint and not 1986 carpets has changed the home so much. Our son continues to love it here and has the added magic of walkie talkies when we are up in the tunnel potting on, though I am not sure I am ready to be sung baby shark again for the hundredth time!
Being a grown up is long hours and no where near as fun as your teenage self assumed! And parenting is hard.... whether you have 1,2,3 children, boys or girls, whether your tribe are developmentally textbook, have additional needs or need for other medical support. It all is bloody hard....
Trying to find the balance and to not be so harsh on yourself when you have forgotten to buy that disco ticket because you were also busy doing the online shop, the dog needed a wee, you were asked to name the Liverpool football team and someone just shouted they need a loo roll, is a skill. It is easy, despite exciting wonderful fun times, the days the sun shines and you know you should be grateful, to just get a bit lost in it all... the ‘not being able to get off’ ness of it all. I think I was just treading water and time passed by and I had done a pretty crap job at looking after myself!
I know I worry too much, I try to plan too far ahead, with my sons needs you feel you have to be 3 steps ahead of where you are, but this takes is toll. It’s exhausting. His 12th birthday is around the corner and right now I have a young man who needs his mum to be at her best and his needs are now... worrying about college and beyond is not helping him this second, when his world revolves around fifa, pasta and wanting to watch the stars round a fire pit.
So this mum is back in the room, but possibly far more jacket potato shaped than she would like
