My kids have been taking it in turns to wake up at night for over two weeks now, and I’m completely- can barely get out of bed in the morning- shattered. There’s no concrete reason why this nocturnal restlessness has started, and believe me, I’ve done my detective work (school woes, too much TV etc etc) so I’m just assuming they are acclimatising back into a routine post Christmas craziness, and we will all get a full night’s sleep soon. I remember wondering when my sons would sleep through the night, as babies. I never thought I’d still be wondering at ages 9 and 6! I can almost hear the weeping of new mums (sorry!)…
I actually sang The 12 days of Christmas to my kids tonight at their request (I can’t sing a flipping note in tune by the way) but they lapped it up as if I was singing solo at St Paul’s Cathedral, bless them. I had to hold them back from giving me a standing ovation.
I love that they can’t hear how shit I am. It must be all that languishing in the womb and becoming accustomed to my voice business.
It’s a bit like the fact I can’t hear my parents’ Greek accents- I mean, at all. I only know they have an accent because others have mentioned it to me in passing over the years. I remember feeling shocked as a child when friends impersonated them to me. What accent?
Anyway, back to today and what I did. It wasn’t particularly productive and I’m peace with that. I had a late (awesome) night last night so took it easier today. I tend not to work between 3-7 pm anyway as that’s when my kids get me to themselves and it’s my favourite part of the day (when Oliver isn’t being a moody premature teenager). We cook, eat, do homework together, annoy Daddy if he’s working from home asking him to fix the internet/TV/ toys, and then I sing badly to them. Good times.
Work-wise, I usually graft from 9am-3pm, then pick up on campaigns or writing posts like this, a little later on in the evening. I also love a cheeky ep of Marie Kondo on Netflix or anything reality plus I read without fail, every single night, even if it’s just a chapter or two.
I collect books and they literally spill from my bedroom bookshelf onto the side table, there’s so many, and they make me deliriously happy. I have 3 on the go at the mo.
I equally value a good old power walk for body and mind and often hit 20k steps a day. Today saw me sun-chasing on the Long Walk by Windsor Castle, before popping into Waitrose for ingredients I was missing for a Tabbuleh salad I didn’t end up making! I had a long phone call with my Mum as per, and as I perused the aisles, I reflected on the fact that living in Windsor makes me feel like I’m on an endless holiday. How special is that? I also feel I’ve accomplished greater balance, these days. Some days are busy, of course they are and that’s fine because I love my job, but all are structured and most aren’t frantic in the least. I work on my own terms and times. Yay.
I’ve just promised myself to try to blog every day this year. Even when my eyes are shutting like they are now and I don’t feel like hitting publish I will because I know that the more I write (and I’ve written a book, this blog years and I was a screenwriter before then), the more consistent and dedicated I am, the greater freedom I feel when it comes to sharing. The more natural it feels. Writing daily (whether you publish or not) removes fear for the most part, mostly fear of the blank page or being judged. That daily discipline to face fear head on, mobilises and inspires.
So, yes to all of that.
Speaking of feeling freer, I saw a new therapist tonight after starting up therapy again in November (and moving on from the original therapist for a more in-depth talking style therapy with CBT) as a means to help me process the grief of losing my second Mum, Auntie Zak, and to work through my thyroid op last year and various other niggling, personal matters.
CBT was an emotional life-line after I experienced a traumatic birth back in 2010 and while I’m thankfully not depressed and in a pretty good place at the moment, having worked through a lot over the years ( also carving out more distinct boundaries, dimming the people-pleaser in me, and realising quite how strong I actually am, post-op), I know there’s a lot more work to be done…. Less worries to be had. Grief to be greater understood, and more lessons to reflect upon, and grow from.
I talked, I cried, I left feeling confident that committing to this was the right thing to do for me right now. Thank you to my girl, Uju for the push to do this.
…I still receive messages from women, today, who have embarked on therapy/CBT after reading my posts on birth trauma. I remember feeling like a failure when I had Oliver. Like the only mother in the world who felt that low. If only blogs had been more commonplace back then. It was a time people didn’t even know what a blog was. It means everything to me that own blog is helping others who might feel as I did then, or now.
Thank you for sharing that with me….
So, that’s my day. What’s yours been like?
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