[dropcap]T[/dropcap]oday should have been a good day.
I mean, there’s no reason why it should have been a good one, but y’know, there’s no reason it should have been a bad one either.
The sun was shining, it was Friday – which we all know is obviously the most beautiful and enchanting of the days of the week, I HAD ACTUAL NICE WEEKEND PLANS, and I had a day to myself to throw myself into work and meetings.
Today is the exact type of day that usually induces all the good happy feels. The type of day that makes me feel at my most me. The kind that makes me stop for a moment and appreciate how content I am.
And yet, from the moment I tried on a button-up dress that pulled slightly across my chest, I felt the waves crash down on me.
I felt myself lose grip on my world and I felt myself spiraling into a place that terrifies me.
It’s always the little things that pull you under isn’t it?
The unsuspecting minor details that shouldn’t be more than an insignificant speed bump in an otherwise flat road.
The last-minute cancelled plans with a friend. Spilling a drink. Realising you’ve left your bank card at home. Missing your train. Someone beeping at you.
And then your heart and your head are tumbling and you are crying and nothing makes sense.
And then someone catches you and asks what’s wrong and you can’t communicate, you can’t make sense of the crashing emotions throwing themselves across your mind.
And you realise that without even noticing it, you’ve been harboring deep internal darkness and it’s been building up in your chest, waiting for the tiniest slip up to release itself.
I cried in the car, I cried in the street and then I cried on a bench.
Because the truth is that I feel lost within myself at the moment.
I feel like I am muddling by, trying to be good at anything and instead being good at nothing.
I feel like I am both flailing and failing. That I pick up my phone too often instead of engaging with my baby. That I sack off trying to write anything for my blog in favour of attempting to spend quality time with my baby and my boyfriend. I take photos for Instagram and spend an entire nap time trying to edit them only to realise that I despise them. I go to reply to emails only to manage two before falling prey to the evil hands of ASOS new-in. I get in the car and realise it’s littered with Starbucks cups and aren’t I supposed to be cutting down on plastic and where the fuck have they all come from? I look at the radiator in the kitchen and see teeny white vests hanging to dry from a wash I did almost a week ago and berate myself for not finding two minutes in my day to fold them and put them away. I see adverts for a Dispatches special on breastfeeding and hurt deep deep down in the pits of my stomach for not being good enough to do it for longer than twelve weeks. I argue with my boyfriend for taking an entire five minutes in the shower and then moan that he doesn’t want to wildly sing his undying love for me immediately after. I wonder why I sometimes feel incredibly alone but then don’t bother to reply to 97% of my text messages from friends and family. I am crumbling under the weight of trying to have it all.
You see, some weeks I feel like maybe I have defied the odds. That maybe I am the one who is nailing both motherhood and work. That I am some kind of success story.
But then there are days like today, days where I get tired of my own existence.
Days where I cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Days where a tiny slip up makes me feel as though I am trapped in an eerily calm and silent swimming pool. The water is pitch black and I know that over time it would swallow me whole. And yet there is something incredibly enticing about the tranquility that makes me feel as though I could stay there forever. And yet I know I must escape, and the only way is to use all my strength to pull myself out. And it is hard to muster that strength. But I also know that the quicker I find that strength, the quicker I will be reunited with sunshine and laughter and normality.
And today, I found my strength after an hour or two.
I repeated in my head all the things that make me feel better. I blocked out the other chaos and noise telling me to stay in the swimming pool, to embrace the darkness.
And I am here, feeling better for having narrated my emotions in a Word document.
But nervous of the backlash that comes from not always being TOP OF THE WORLD FUCKING ECSTATIC when you have a baby.
But I read once that kind people share their flaws openly because it reminds others that they are not alone in their own flaws.
I am not saying that I am kind or that unhappiness is a flaw, but I am throwing myself out there – not just because it is somehow deeply cathartic for me – but because I hope it will stand as a reminder to just one person that their feelings are valid and that it is OK to not always be OK.