Last year was immense, the act of separating from my husband caused my world to start to spin at a ferocious rate. Suddenly I became consumed with the desire to do something, anything, and everything. My year became full of adventures, I holidayed, I partied (like any nearly 40-year-old mum to three parties: in spanx, with Prosecco and home for midnight.) I lived life at a 100 miles an hour and never took time to think.
That was last year.
Then this year it seems like I crashed the car and am still battling to unbuckle the seatbelt to get out and survey the damage.
This year has been maudlin. Single parenting hit me in the face like a soggy tampon, and the realisation that I was financially, emotionally, and completely responsible for the three little people who were dragged from my womb for 91% of the time (yes I worked it out – we single mums of three have lots of time to do Maths) became overwhelming.
I’m not going to lie, rather than dance my woes away, or climb mountains, or try to breathe fire. I have spent much of the last nine months or so, eating biscuits, drinking wine, and hiding under my duvet whenever possible.
It has not been a complete catastrophe of a year.
But in the main, well, it has been a bit shit. The doctor described me as a little bit depressed, with a ridiculous amount to deal with. She gave me pills to help cope, turns out they made me a lot more depressed and not really able to deal with the ridiculous amount I have to deal with. So I came off those and am just relying on my natural, jolly self to pull me through. Although when I get really fed up, my Dad will normally give me a call and play Bette Midler’s Wind Beneath my Wings down the phone to give me a boost.
It is a crime to the care community that, that man didn’t go into counselling.
But I think,
I really do think,
that this chapter in my life is ending.
In one weeks time, I’ll be officially divorced, and living back in my home county. I’ll be making new friends, tormenting a new local hospital, and invariably joining a new ‘fat club.’ I’ll have my family down the road and already old friends are appearing in my life.
I don’t need to live life at breakneck speed anymore, as I have learnt you must face the shite in order to deal with it. However an adventure or two would be nice.
I don’t think I need to spend anymore time sobbing into my pillow with a woe is me attitude, nor do I need to keep eating the biscuits and drinking the wine… (although both are habits that are hard to crack.)
I think I am ready to live life again.
And that feels good.