"It sucks to be a frown-up."

Sometimes life just kicks you in the gut.

I am currently nursing an emotional bruise which is obviously when I write the most.

A combination of dealing with an old hurt and child wrangling (complete with screaming, kicking, hitting and just plain old wailing) is making me feel vulnerable.

To some, it would seem that I complicate my life unnecessarily. Hell, if I'd met me, I'd think so.

The loneliness has crept back in. Insidious thing loneliness. I think I'd been keeping it at bay but a few nights ago I crumbled. So, I'm on a low. But at least I can recognise it for what it is, and I'm sort of breathing through it I guess. Kind of like breathing through a contraction.

Some days it takes an effort to live. I read an article today about trying not to try. The Chinese Taoists call it 无为 (wu wei), or in the words of Yoda, "Do. There is no try." It's about flow. Some days, my flow says, stay in bed, curl up under the duvet and just cry. Luckily or unluckily, I have a small child who will not be ignored or denied. And luckily for her, I don't have it in me to do so. Yet.

I wish there wasn't so much real life... stuff... to do. I wonder why some of us are so ill-equipped to handle the day to day, and why for some it's... 无为.

"You do it to yourself, you do...just you and no one else."

I don't know how people manage, this living business.

Don't worry, I am not feeling suicidal. Just a little whelmed.

There is so much to do, just to get on. And that's just the day to day stuff. 

I used to be so organised and prided myself on that fact. But these days, I feel like there is too much to do and I get immobilised by the idea. 

But do I do the sensible thing and cut down on what needs to be done? Of course not. I go ahead and quit my job. Why? Because if you find yourself snapping at everyone and on the verge of tears most days, this is not where you should be. 

Yet, I feel lighter, buoyed by the notion that there is an end in sight. I am filled with ideas that I want to try out. 

A friend called me a one woman creative hurricane the other day - yes, I like that. I just need to take action and do some of these wonderful things I've dreamed up!

"Try your best to deal with life without medicating."

I have often wondered about the rhyme "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." It's definitely an adult's way of helping a child cope with taunting - but will it really help? It seems to devalue the power of words. All of human civilisation is connected by words: there are words to inspire, words to kill, words to heal, words to love... even those of us who lack a physical voice or the capacity to hear, still use words to connect with another human being. Would it not be more useful to learn how to use the taunting? Turn it back on the user? And to cope with one's feelings? I think it would be more harmful to believe that words could never hurt us, when In fact, words can do the worst kind of injury: invisible, insidious and enduring.

I had believed the lie, because I was told it as a child. I was told repeatedly by well-meaning adults who could not conceive of emotional hurt. If you couldn't see the injury, of course it wasn't not real or was worth attention. I have learned, at great cost, otherwise.

This gentleman's words from Humans of New York - " that every feeling will pass if you give it time." - crystallised what I'd been learning intuitively recently. It will be something that I will try to teach my daughter, or rather something we will learn to do together. Ignoring or burying emotional pain is only prolonging its existence, and gives it impetus to grow. Just as we shouldn't draw back from happiness (because we're afraid of the cost should it suddenly disappear), we shouldn't turn away from pain, but see it through. 

This too will pass.

"All the best people are."

Last night I had a visit from the Past, and with it came an insight which I wasn't thrilled about since understanding doesn't automatically bring acceptance. I am feeling hurt, and the self-esteem has taken a little battering*, so I am finding it a little hard to use it.

I know I'll get over it eventually, but I was also a little surprised at my own reaction. I had thought that I was safe, that I no longer felt... I was going to say that I was wrong, but even as I type this, I feel it ebbing, when just minutes ago, I felt that ache in my chest, now an echo. So maybe I was right, after all. Perhaps, this is what a memory of feeling is.

Years ago, after the first break down, I learned that emotional pain never really goes away. It comes back when you least expect it, like a dark wave, breaking over the barriers you've so painstakingly built, stone by stone. I am learning to swim through it, but it's hard work and I'm not as robust as I was.

My visitor is one of those who finds me too emotionally driven. I'll say what a dear friend said to that, "All the best people are."

On a positive note, I believe I am now OK with being alone. The idea of dating is decidedly unappealing right now. I think I'd like more frequent company of an adult nature though. That would be most... satisfying.

* I wonder if I will ever meet someone whom I will click with sexually again. And by click, I mean we will find each other equally attractive. Lately, it seems to be either I fancy them but they don't fancy me or vice versa. Or worse, we sort of fancy each other. Sigh.

"Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out."

I find myself in a an almost perpetual state of frustration alternating with rage these past 10 days. But this morning I read one man's blog about being let go from a job he had held for a decade - and I found myself thinking, "I will NOT be like this." So I breathed the 4, 7, 8 sequence and calmed the fuck down, then promptly did a quick search on stress on work. 

Exercise seems to be the panacea of choice when it comes to alleviating turmoil. I've been a little slack in the exercise department lately, mainly because I've not made the time for it, being too engrossed in my outrage. Being so emotionally driven, I sometimes become lost in the drama* and forget to pay attention. So I shall take my medicine like a grown-up. First dose tomorrow - if my daughter will suffer it. Trying to do a workout when a five-year old insists on jumping on you or using your arms and legs as a crazy maze is quite the challenge.

Oh yes, my weekdays now have a morning two hour slot for my Little Monster. Friday's activity shall be baking corn muffins if we have time: http://agirlcalledjack.com/2015/06/09/corn-bread-muffins-10p-each/. (Yes, I am trying to be a Parent.)


*To those of you who consider "Drama Queens" contemptible, I'll not gloat when you finally explode from throttling your emotional selves. Or turn into dry detached husks, wondering why you feel nothing but emptiness. Meh.

"I'm just not made for this, kid."

"This" being parenthood.

I know, I know -- lots of parents think they're not, that everyone feels this way sometimes. I have long despised the parents who gave the raising of their children to someone else (nanny, grandparents, boarding school) -- to my chagrin, if I could afford it, I would. Because I have found that I cannot be what my daughter needs me to be: 100% there all the time. All these people would care for her in ways that I never can.

This was further brought home to me when I visited the home of a childminder. Her home -- not her place of work, her home -- was a child's heaven. There was all manner of toys, games, costumes for dressing up, books, chickens, cats, a garden, a sandpit... my child belonged here, in this place made so lovingly for the purpose of childhood.

So why did I have a child? Not, as one might expect, because I wanted to be a parent. The reasons now seem naive, but despite what we believe ourselves capable of, predicting accurately how we would react to a situation two, three or five years down the line is not one of those things.

I am in awe of the power of our genes to convince us of the rightness of procreating. I had somehow gone from adamantly not wanting children to craving one in a space of 10 years. Even though, I knew that I would not enjoy parenthood, I'd somehow convinced myself that I would.

Alright, I concede that I did have moments of joy. But let's consider this: I was so angry and sad a few months after I gave birth, that I went back on antidepressants and stayed on them for nearly four years. It was the only way I could cope with my marriage and my child. And even then it was a bit touch and go for while. In that time, I believe I must have enjoyed some things - I have the pictures to show it - but I don't remember many of them. I see the smiles, the things we did, but I do not remember them. Post-meds... well, that's a different story. Take today for example, I ended up locking myself in the kitchen - I was hiding from my own child, because I just could not bear to be with her (the caterwauling, the flinging of cereal all over the bedroom floor and bed, the endless demands). Take a breath? Calm down? Don't shout? Medicate?

For those of you who are made for this, I salute you.

Void - Space - Emptiness - Vacuum

Tanya Davis wrote this beautiful poem about how to be alone: https://youtu.be/k7X7sZzSXYs

I've been pondering how to do this as I don't think I've ever been alone. Since the split, a part of me has been on the constant look out for a partner even though I know I really do not need one right now. Intellectually, I know I need to heal, to be happy with myself and my (mis)deeds, to be present for my child, and not to complicate my already complex life with another person's mosaic*.

But there is what seems to be quite a large void within me, that keeps signalling loudly that it needs to be filled. I know it should not be with another person but with... I struggle to fill this bit.

I read a lot about how one should find validation within oneself, but very little practical advice on how to do so or indeed what this actually means. And then there is the very definition of validation - seeking approval, is it? Is that it?

I wonder why I haven't instantly filled that space with my daughter - which seems, given my proclivities, to be the natural thing to do. I mean, when I was still tethered, I turned my attention to her much more. Perhaps it was a combination of the withdrawal of pharmaceutical aid and the re-birth of my identity+?

I often doubt my fitness to be a mother. I also sometimes doubt my fitness to be a friend, wife and colleague. I have a terrible suspicion that I am a lost cause and that people humour me out of pity.

It is at this point that I give myself a slap and go read a book, watch something inspiring or do some exercise. Distraction from the call of depression can be quite effective. It's whether or not you notice as it's quite insidious and can take you by surprise.

Frogs being boiled and all that.^

*Beautiful and fascinating as it may be. I love staring at mosaics, and following the patterns. I am astounded by the patience of the artists to place each tile.
+A very protracted process it seems. I suspect the answer to Who Am I will be constantly changing.
^ Not to be mistaken for frogs being dissected. That's for jokes.