Come Clean. If you haven't heard this song, you must. It had me screaming my soul into my car this morning.
I’d like to tell you a story. It’s about a pity party, BUT it has a happy ending. There are things some of you know, and those that you don’t, so we’ll cover all bases so you don’t feel alone at the party.
I’ve been on maternity leave for nearly eight months. We moved up north to the beaches in November, took holidays overseas in December, and finally feel like we are settling into our new hood in Jan. 2020. We haven’t made friends, but we aren’t worried about that; we love our village near and far, and we breathe easier up here, everyone does.
Nik starts work life back up again in Feb and we readjust to a calibration of what that will feel like for our family dynamic; I’m next, starting work in March, so it’s all going to happen quickly.
He heads to America for a market research trip, and I head to my office to discuss my return from mat leave schedule. Little do I know, I am made redundant that day. I proceed to process, what I can only liken to a breakup, of the past near 9 years together. Most of the time, I am grateful, good riddance! I wanted to try something new, now is my chance. And then I become resentful, how, why, how, will they prosper without me?? I doubt my self worth, ‘did they ever think I was valuable?’ and I praise my self worth ‘they are sooooo going to miss me when I’m gone.’ Either way, I’ve been mentally prepared for a day like this since the GFC, I shed no tears.
Nik leaves for an eating and drinking expedition, 57 restaurants in 15 days, or something like that, and I prepare for a domination of levelling up our lives while he is away. I will complete every household task and project outstanding, I will hit the gym every day, I will most likely meditate, I will write my book, go to bed early, and read tonnnns of books.
I do none of that. But you knew that, didn’t you.
Instead, I survive. As a ‘single’ mother of three young children, one who is brand new to a primary school, one who is brand new to a Montessori ‘3.5 hr daycare’ school, and one who is a clingy koala that refuses to let you fulfill ambitions of your own. I shuttle, I coordinate, I organise, I launder, I survive. I do not thrive like I thought I would. I depress a little. But mostly I keep moving forward.
I hold my head up when Vaughn scooters down our driveway and bumps his head, again, in a helmet (no shirt, ouch for that nipple of his) and attempts to fall straight asleep post blood bath shower. I sink when paramedics ask me who I can leave my baby with so I can accompany my 3 year old to the hospital, and I panic and say no one (I have some one now, I just didn’t remember her then.) I wallow as I devise a solution of sending my 6 year old to chaperone my 3 year old in the ambulance. I weep as I drive my baby to the hospital with the memories of the innocent trip to RPA years ago to see Nik’s dad, only to be told on arrival that he wasn’t going to make it. I shudder to think this could be the scenario with my child, even though I know it won’t be true, the feeling of driving to a hospital as if everything is okay, is enough to convince me otherwise.
All in all, Vaughn is fine, and I joke to Nik that ‘technically’ I had wanted to go out to eat that night, and ‘technically’ we did; the boys relished in their dinner of jelly, custard, white bread sandwiches, and juice. I relished in knowing they were fine, and we finally got a tour of our new local hospital. Bonnie sent me an encouraging text about what a good mother I am, as I pulled back into our home at 9pm, and I wept with the hope I could believe her.
So we survived, we did not thrive. All the days that Vaughn suddenly didn’t want the new school; all the nights that Julian suddenly carved new teeth, and everything in between. Nik thought I sounded depressed and anxious when we would speak on the phone, I thought I sounded like a god-damn cheetah. We are at odds.
My phone is full. It blacks out. I go for 36 hours with no device. I am no longer worried. I have my heart beat, my life, I have means of communication (laptop) so this too shall pass. I take my dead phone to Apple. The Genius says it cannot be recovered. Gone will go my memories, photos, newborn videos, texts, loving messages, passwords, notes. This guru apologies profusely, and empathizes even more. She seems more uncomfortable by my content in this situation, and I get that, I would too. But I had already constructed my shell and I was finally using it as armour – "WHAT NEXT, LIFE??" – I asked myself as I braced my abs for the next punch. I still had a phone, I just didn’t have a past. I labelled this again as a ‘FULL LIFE RESET’ and moved on. I was stoic, and poised, and ready for the jabs…
The next punch came with our (original born) son, Jack (the dog) suddenly getting sick…
I was a good dog mom (for once,) because he seemed down so I took him in to see the vet. We gave him meds, he got wobbly, I blamed the meds, the vet blamed a phantom tick. We gave Jack steroids. Jack got worse. I rushed Jack to the hospital; they bombarded me with promise of MRI’s and surgeries. I didn’t want that for Jack anymore, again, I just wanted him not in pain.
For the next 10 days, I didn’t make it to the gym, but I did do crossfit daily, with a 30 kilo dog. Jack wore a harness, and I lifted him in and out of the house, the garden, the bedroom, the dog bed, as he lost more and more of his ability to walk. I held him on for dear life so that Nik could say goodbye to him. We put him down the very next day after Nik got home. It was heartbreak, and relief. He died 10 days before his 10th birthday. A week later, we found out that his best friend from Las Vegas, a retriever called Mulligan, who he knew all of his life, who followed him to Sydney, and then moved to Brisbane…she died a few days after he did. We had no idea dog death expanded beyond our little family. And here they are, friends, passing at the same time... Isn’t that poetic. And strange.
I am at an Elizabeth Gilbert (Eat, Pray, Love and Big Magic, etc) morning and in a sea of 500 women, including my soul sister Leisa. I can’t help but notice, in this sea of mesmerized females, that I can not sit still; I fidget, I cross my legs, I drink some water, I scribble, I doodle, I tie up my hair. I make a mental note to ask my psychologist how to make this stop; I’m the only one doing it in this ocean, I want to be still like the rest of the Pacific.
Fast track a few days, and there is a joking humour with her about what I might have, and 'I should take a test' but it’s likely that I’m just more sensitive than other people (cool, I’ll take that.) But when that therapist’s face drops, as she reads the results of my test, I don’t know what to think. Turns out I have ADHD…
The big girl in me soothes the room by saying this is surely a good thing. It’s not cancer, it’s the opposite! There is (finally) a reason to my struggles. I’ve lived in parallel for so long; in a good and grateful life, while a dark and stormy undercurrent has always lurked. Ambition and depression. Gratitude and anxiety. Stress and (forced) relaxation. In my twenties, I amicably referred to it as my ‘Monkey Mind,’ and today, I know why.
The psychiatrist I see today, he says he thinks I have issues with my mother (thanks) and that she likely didn’t know how to manage a child with ADHD, which would have caused our (turbulent) crash of characters. He gives me a prescription which will hopefully help me focus my mind (I could weep with gratitude of the promise of a better way of thinking) but it ‘won’t cure your warts.’ I get that.
Two nights ago, I reached out to Aunt Jill on Whatsapp. I told her I missed her. She probably already knows this, but she is like a mother figure to me. I don’t reach out often enough, but I realise now (from reading a book called ‘Buy Yourself The Fucking Lilies’) that I don’t know how. I don’t know what is expected of me, as a daughter or family member of a nurturing sort, so I do my best, and I make contact when the pot is about to boil over; that’s all I know how to do. But I am learning.
I tell her that I miss her, but before we even speak, I confide that I will confess to her that I am tired, exhausted, overwhelmed, ready to let down my guard, uncertain of what ADHD means or could mean. I want to apologise for sending a video to our family that encourages us to ‘heal our relationships’ when she and I have always had one that is just fine. I want her to know that it is for her husband, and his brothers that this message was for. I want them all to know that I have birthed three boys, and I am utterly terrified that my three will end in a broken relationship like Grandma’s three. I know I am different, but I have such respect for our Duchess, that I am paralysed by the idea that my boys might one day not speak. My heart and my soul cannot carry that burden. I know they don’t have to, but Grandma’s boys are SUCH good boys, how do I not fear that good boys, and my boys, won’t turn out the same? That history will not repeat itself? I cannot. So I fear the future instead.
Instead, I give my aunt and uncle an intoxicated update on my life. It doesn’t feel good but it does feel safe, my emotions, my feelings, are guarded by a few dozen wines, they cannot get me here. But something inside me tried to get out, by reaching out to them that night. Tears were shed before, but they were not ever shed during (our call) I made sure of that.
Listen, this is probably the part where I should wrap things up to the ‘happily ever after’ so you don’t all knock (text) at my door with concern. And know this. Despite all of that, I am good! I *felt* my way through most of it, numbed my way through the rest of it, and survived all the other in betweens. I am reading books that give me wisdom and sanity, I am seeking professional help, and I am resting into the chest of my husband’s warmth (or I will soon), when it all gets too much. And this too shall pass.
My counsin (in law?) Susy said to me once that I didn’t need to be so perfect. At first I took offense. Then I had an understanding. Finally I realised that I truly was looking at my life with a lens of perfection; and considering I’ve never achieved said 'euphoric eutopia', I have mostly lived a life in angst and disappointment, that I have yet to achieve the ‘perfect’ goals I have set out for myself. I am thankful for her, and all of the other little signs that have led me here; to understanding, and acceptance, and ultimately an elevated way of life. And I’m all about levelling up. I love you all, whoever you are that read this, and thank you (from the bottom of my heart) for being such a vital part of my world.
Look. Let’s add COVID to the mix and call it a day shall we? I am tired, exhausted, and is that ADHD or is that a baby who doesn’t sleep at night causing this? Is it my mind, or my child? A disorder, or a motherly brain that can’t stop? Fuck. If. I. know.
Perhaps you will know the answer to all of this just by reading it…
I hope that… I hope for nothing actually, I just wanted you to know what has been going on lately, and I don’t have the energy to tell you all of it coherently, and individually. So here it is.
I hope that you know I am fine ( I AM!) I hope that you know I wrote this only to (vent and so you can understand my) share what has been going on, in a way that is slightly more intimate than a social media post, and slightly less personal than a text (its a lotta words for a text.)
It’s time for (another) wine. I hope this helps you understand me a little bit better.
"Holding your breath, when we all want to scream. Some point we all have to... Come Clean."
I love you to infinity,
K x
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