When I was younger, I had ideals of growing my own veg, living off the land, avoiding the constraints of 9-5 society, and being a free spirit.
As I’ve grown up, I’ve slowly been sucked into a life that seems to be the complete opposite. I worry about the size of our house – and not just because we might put another baby in it (shallow, I know) – the age of my car, the type of clothes I wear, my intellect, my job, the level of respect I have from colleagues, peers, in-laws, parents, friends, and all sorts of other things – and they are things – that just shouldn’t really be that important.
The shift has been gradual and surreptitious. I’m not sure when it started, but here I am.
Stressed out, anxious seemingly all the time, and constantly carrying around a feeling of dissatisfaction, but with what I’m not even really sure.
I cried at a playdate this morning. The weather has turned unbearably hot after weeks and weeks of rain, and after 3 hours of not being able to play properly with my toddler because I was manhandling a sticky baby (south facing garden, no shade anywhere to put him down), I had had enough. A few tears, pulled myself together and I took my boys home.
It shouldn’t be this way. My anxiety levels, stress levels, whatever you want to call them are permanently stuck on red alert. I am paranoid about accidents and live in desperate fear of one of my children getting hurt. It’s killing me.
Why am I like this? I judge myself by everyone else, and not by my own standards (I think I get this from my mother). I can’t relax and let my children enjoy themselves, I worry about sunburn, wasp stings, grass rash, bashed heads, scraped knees, falling off chairs, tripping over, choking, in-fighting and pushing and shoving, you name it, I’ve already foreseen the entire accident and the consequences (usually fatal).
It’s almost like by imaging the absolute worst that can happen at any given second, I can prevent it by seeing it coming. But imagining the worst that can happen all day long is starting to take it’s toll after 2.5 years. Add a baby into the mix and the last 9 months have been double the stress.
What would a third do?
Finish me off!
I want to be carefree, healthy, uninterested in unnecessary material gain, focused on things like quality playtime, nutritious food, and meaningful relationships, live closer to nature and feel that I am being true to myself. I secretly want to be an earth mother.
How do I get from here to there?
How do I find myself again?
I guess like anything, it has to be one small step at a time.