13 May Look for the Helpers…
They are always there, you just need to look for them.
I’m sat in the hairdressers watching my red hair fall into my lap.
You’d be forgiven for assuming I was doing a Britney, exposing my peanut head to the world.
Rather, I fancied a change.
This is the first day I have felt like me again.
Not completely. I’m still waking up with trepidation at the day ahead and the commitments I have.
I still took big deep breaths while fixing breakfast.
This morning though I went to boot camp with Neil.
It was a big step for me as the gym is loud and boot camp is crowded but after I got started I felt like it had given me something back. It had injected a bit of life back into my veins.
While I was on a roll I even took my time getting dressed. Putting make up on for the first time in over a week.
My face looks old.
I’ve lost enough weight to look gaunt and my features more angular.
Hence the fringe.
I thought it might soften my face somewhat.
If you’d have told me two days ago I would brave a gym class and a solo trip to the hair dressers I’d have thought you ridiculous but this is what I did today.
When I woke up this morning I listened to a ten minute mindfulness session on my phone before starting my day.
Who knows if this is what helped?
Maybe it was switching to taking meds before bed rather than in the morning.
Either way I can see light in the murky waters now.
I thought I had sunk too far to come back but I was caught just in time.
The same hysterical woman that was at the GP on Wednesday demanding promises that my children wouldn’t be removed was today back to washing uniforms and cooking tea.
Mental meltdowns aren’t exclusive to the village crazies.
The therapist I saw on Thursday made me realise that you can only go on for so long cramming your life full before something gives and unfortunately, this time, it was me.
He recognised in five minutes the people pleaser.
The woman that was seeking validation from others.
One thing is for sure, it shifts your focus back to what matters.
Now I couldn’t care less if my job impresses anyone. I don’t care if my house looks less than tidy or if my beds are unmade.
I care that I can be Mum.
The girls don’t care a flying fiddle if I make coffee, take photos or run the country.
They just need a full belly, a full heart and consistency.
Maybe that’s all any of us need.