Today I was asked whether I was a regretful mother. I can understand why people would think that. I do spend a lot of time banging on about how shit motherhood can be but that’s the difference. I don’t regret becoming a mother – I don’t regret having kids – but I do resent the job of motherhood at times and yes, I regret that this is the situation I find myself in. I regret that I’ve made a choice that society doesn’t support me in. Continue reading
When I was 27 years old I experience my first episode of depression. It floored me. It was a mental whirlwind that left me disoriented in its wake. No one in my family had suffered from any mental health issues, at least openly, and while I navigated the journey, I felt exposed, isolated, lost and frankly, a little disgusted with myself. Why couldn’t I cope? What the hell did I have to feel so down about? Wasn’t everything pretty damn sweet in my life? Continue reading
If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you’ll know two things:
- I’m shit at writing regularly. I’m in the process of rectifying this.
- My approach to life, every day and every way is this: just don’t be a dick…
…which is why what my daughter is doing at the moment is just not ok.
There’s nothing more terrifying that having your own worst traits staring back at you through the words, actions, facial expressions of your children. It’s inevitable, but that doesn’t make the punch in the emotional gut any less painful. It’s even harder to take when someone else has to point out that maybe, just maybe, your daughter’s behaviour is a reaction to your own crappy ways of dealing with things. Ouch. Continue reading
It’s no secret that I found the transition to motherhood hard. I’ve banged on and on about it in the hope that honestly recounting my experience may chime with other mothers struggling and perhaps offer them a virtual life raft to hold on to. After all that’s why I started the blog and why I still write it because it’s still necessary. Despite all our efforts to dispel the myths surrounding motherhood, they still exist. New mothers (and old mothers) are still finding themselves lost in a haze of breast pumps, maternity pads and wailing babies. Continue reading
Over two months ago I posted the most personal blog yet detailing my relationship with booze and the negative impact it was having on my life, my relationship, my children, my bank balance. The response to the blog was overwhelming. I received hundreds of emails, literally (I stopped counting after 230) from other women (and a few men). All of them called me brave (or ‘brace’ thanks to auto-correct), some thanked me for writing their story, some were grateful that I’d held a mirror up to their own drinking habits, some just wanted to say, “Me too. I’m here.” None, zero, absolutely not one of the emails was negative. Continue reading
You may or may not know my history, my story, my journey to the place I find myself in today. It’s not straightforward and its littered with questionable choices, terrible outfits and a frequent lack of direction. One thing that has always remained though was my propensity for hard bloody work. I’m a Yorkshire lass and, quite simply, you’re not allowed to be a Yorkshire lass unless you’re a grafter. From my first job at 13 right up until the job I do today, I’ve always given it my all and I’ve always worked. I took it for granted that I would always be able to do that, if I wanted to…not anymore. Continue reading
OK – so I’m all for falling for the latest fad but when it came to my second baby I was determined to keep things real. Apart from anything else, our house was already bursting at the seams with plastic shit that my eldest never used. I couldn’t afford to lose more space for shit that the newest small was never going to use. So, I kept it strict: she needed stuff to wear, something to sleep in, something to be pushed around in and something to go in a car in. Everything else was gravy. Continue reading
Whenever I meet up with friends they always ask me how the blog is going, which is nice of them. And then, just like clockwork, the second question out of their mouth is, ‘Do you make any money from it?’ Once I’ve picked myself up off the floor and stopped laughing deliriously, I explain that no, I simply do it because, well, I like it. It’s probably 45% because I love writing, 45% because I’m a total narcissist and the last 10% is all about the vain hope that someone reading it, somewhere, feels a little better about themselves and this parenting lark because something I said resonated with them. Continue reading
Yesterday, I was dumped by my cleaner. By text. The shame. I wouldn’t mind except that she was the only cleaner I’ve ever had that cleaned my house like I would. Yes, she was completely unreliable and, despite the fact that she only came once a fortnight (which was more like once a month by the time she cancelled and rescheduled), I held on to her because, well, cleaning my house just once a month is probably more than I would do left to my own devices. Anyway, it’s all moot now – she’s dumped me. I’m 34 weeks pregnant and cleanerless. As far as middle class problems go, it’s definitely up there. Continue reading