Last night Joe told me the best thing I ever did for MYSELF was learning to give No Fucks about what people think of my parenting.
Truth is I didn’t learn, it was gifted to me.
Last year I was so overwelmbed with fucks I didn’t know what to do with the twats.
Last year, every single word someone said about me or my children, my fucks would snatch those words and suck them into my soul.
Sometimes even when people said nothing at all.
I had suffered with Post Natal Depression ever since my second child Jax was 12 weeks old. I say suffered and I mean it.
I’ll keep this simple. There’s no need for a Gandhi like analysis of wisdom here. Its as simple as this.
I was suicidal.
Im not going to say I wanted to die .
Nobody wants to die but I thought I had to.
I simply didn’t know how to live anymore and I didn’t want to.
Not because I didn’t love my children, but because I loved them TOO much, if that’s even possible.
I loved my children so much, that I didn’t know where to house this love. I didn’t know how to handle the emotions that these wonderful creations arrived with.
I loved my children so much, that I tortured myself night and day about how I couldn’t possibly be enough for them.
I taunted myself, I bullied myself about every single thing I did or didn’t do for them.
I invited guilt to come and live with me. Every moment of the day I let it lodge for free inside me. I thought I deserved guilt.
To me, these children deserved more then the world. How could I ever give them that?
They needed more then me and I thought everyone knew it.
I thought everyone knew I wasn’t enough.
Some small good intended remark from one person on any day was enough to prompt me to bully myself for the rest of it. Sometimes week. Or until the next comment.
My mind and my heart were both now holding on to feelings that served me no purpose. Piling up around me and just sitting there like old newspapers in an ‘extreame hoarders’ house.
Stacking higher and higher until I couldn’t be seen anymore and everything became too clostrophobic for me. Everything closed in on top of me pushing me down and down until there I was, in rock bottoms basement, trapped and alone.
Not a very nice place to be.
To a person stuck down there you start to think you’re alone. Nobody else is where you are.
You’ve all the time in the world to think, and then overthink. You belong there for being a bad mother.
Incarcarated in your own mind and there is only one way out.
One night I lay down beside Frankie. This gorgeous little presence here on earth . This little person that doesn’t know of guilt, or judgment,just honesty. I had had a bad day and therefore I presumed that they did too. I was cross and snappy and teary and probably wasn’t going to be winning any mother of the year awards.
Frankie was just dozing off when suddenly she scootched herself over to me. She covered us both over with her little princess duvet, put her tiny little arm around my neck and she said ” Mammy, Are you ok? ”
Taken aback I said ” Yes, of course I’m ok why wouldn’t I be?
Said said “Ok”
15 seconds later, her arm still around me she sqeezed hard and said,
” Mammy, you’re the best mammy in the world and I dont want anyone else as my mammy, only you”
And just like that, this tiny little person saved me.
A real life superhero in peppa pig pajamas.
I realised that very second that it does’nt matter what anyone thinks of you as a mother except the little humans who call you ‘mom’. They are the only people on this earth who have the right to say if you are worthy of the title or not and yet to them, THEY will never feel worthy enough to have YOU as their mother.
If you can, try to see yourself as the mother you are through their eyes. Not through yours.
I gave up all my fucks that night and I can honestly say I dont know where those turds reside these days, but its not in me.
Thank you for saving me Miss Frankie Beau. X
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