Just Ok

I don’t need your validation.

Recently I’ve been meeting a good number of my fabulous Twitter friends who have supported me over the past few months, I’ve got on famously with them all and had some really great times. But…

When you meet someone you admire and respect. Someone worldly and intelligent they can turn your head, make you think differently and view your place in the world from another perspective. That is usually a really good thing.

You admire them greatly, this wonderful charismatic friend who shares so much in common with you but broadens your horizons and helps to underpin some of your flagging self esteem. And then you meet them and they are as great as you think they’ll be.

But they know everything about me. I’ve poured my soul out to a select group of online friends over the past few months and they know my vulnerabilities and the chinks in my armour. They know how to wound, they know how fragile I can be.

I met up with a friend, a wonderfully supportive and open friend. They said I was ok. What the hell is that? Ok? I thought they were amazing and good company and said so. I’m just ok. Well I guess that’s me. Just ok. I’ve brooded on that for a few days. Just ok.

Tonight my husband shot me a look which said that I wasn’t just ok that I was his world. That’s all the validation I need. There is a caveat. That is all the validation I need when I’m calm and happy. But otherwise I’ll probably continue to brood on being just ok.

Selfish

I love my son, he is beautiful. He is excellent company and charming and funny. He is everything I love about me and my husband rolled into one, precious, much lovelier parcel. He is my world.

He is poorly, nothing serious, he’s 2 and there’s a plague of Croup going round nursery, he’s got a nasty, barking cough but he’s fine in himself and bouncing round the place, full of beans and twice as messy.

Normally this wouldn’t be a problem. Normally I’d handle it, distract him, cuddle him, play with him but I’m selfish. I’m going through a period of anxiety and I’m bound up in myself, in my head, I can’t shake the feeling of doom and panic. The loss of control and the fear of spiralling, spiralling like I did a few weeks ago.

So as he bounced off the sofa, tipping toys everywhere, I sat cold, unfeeling, lost in my head and the dark, confidence ripping thoughts negatively running on a loop through my mind. Selfish. Selfish bloody woman.

He turned to me and saw the tears streaming down my numb face. He gazed for a moment and my heart broke as he said “What’s up Mamma?”. He climbed onto my knee and cuddled me, held me tight, my poorly baby comforting me. Selfish. Selfish bloody woman.

“What’s up Mamma?” His face full of concern.

I replied “Mamma doesn’t love herself as much as she loves you.”

There you have it, a lifetime of therapy and an endless prescription couldn’t have fathomed it out any quicker than a toddler with a cough.

I hate myself, my actions, my lack of control, my need for validation from other people. I hate the way I look, the way I sound, how I think, the things that I think. That I’m weak, that others take advantage of that. I hate that I’m like this, I hate that I’m in the grip of it. Because when I’m not I’m a great person, loving, funny, caring, wise. I wish I knew how to stop it, I wish I knew how to love myself. I wish I knew how to stop being a selfish, selfish bloody woman.

Everybody’s Changing

On our recent holiday in North Devon we were winding our way down a country lane, music blaring when Everybody’s Changing by Keane came on the radio. I was instantly transported back to the hot summer of 2005 (bear with me, there really is a point to this).

In 2005 I was made redundant from a pretty decent job in Further Education. Two huge colleges were merging and they needed to shed some staff. They shoved a nice cheque in my back pocket and sent me off into the world. As it was summer I decided the best option would be to take a month off and work on my tan while I surveyed my options.

There then followed arguably the best month of our married life. For one hour each day I frantically cleaned the house and cooked delicious meals from scratch, dinner was on the table when he came home from work. He was delighted to be married to the perfect housewife and I would spend a happy 7 hours a day lolling in the garden listening to music. Perfection.

Alas all good things must come to an end and once the month was up I got a job in the NHS and the rest is history.

The point is dear reader (thanks by the way, this is almost certainly tedious mind drivel), I once again find myself on the cusp of change. I’ve had the most difficult, life changing year and I’ll soon be surveying my job options again.

We have Splodge now and I want to treasure every second of him before he suddenly grows into a gangly, grunting teen (he’s 2, I’m pretty sure I’m being dramatic). It probably really is time to decide what I want to do when I grow up. If I ever grow up. Do I want to grow up? Should I grow up?

If you’ve any ideas, answers on a postcard please!

Don’t forget to make a life…

Don't forget to make a life...

Birdhouse In Your Soul – PTSD and me

So we’ve figured out I’m a moody unfeminine weirdo with a penchant for angry, shouty rock music and I’ve been going through a dark patch. Well I thought it was time for a quick pre-holiday, enforced time away from blog update. I promise when I get back from hols the recipes and kiddie stuff will recommence.

I’m a very lovely person, I’m helpful and kind and friendly. My friends say I’m funny and sweet and I’ve got the dirtiest laugh in Manchester (fact), but my kindness makes me vulnerable which is a terrible thing.

Being nice has gotten me into heaps of trouble and scrapes in the past. Despite not being much of a looker I have managed to acquire a couple of stalkers. One of which terrifyingly used to follow me home and stand, staring outside my window for hours. In the end a couple of burly mates warned him off but he’d still loiter outside my office at work trying to see me. Creepy.

The scariest incident was dealing with an incredibly vulnerable man at work. I was calm, professional and lovely towards him. Never crossing boundaries just being helpful and sympathetic. He locked me in a room and sexually assaulted me. My screams alerted security and they kicked the door down before things got out of hand, but still the damage was done and eventually two years later I was diagnosed with PTSD.

In reality nobody died, things could’ve been a lot worse but still, my kindness is a weakness which gets taken advantage of. It’s hard because I like being kind. I like being the person people come to with their troubles and we bandy them about over a brew. I don’t want to harden my heart but I’m not sure how much my own vulnerable little heart can take.

It’s been stepped on recently and as much as I wish my friend (who did the stepping) all the love and luck in the world fixing their vulnerable, broken little heart, I kind of wish they’d thought of mine too. But mental illness makes lovely people selfish and hurtful. I just hope they find peace and when they do return to help me find my peace.