So far 2023 has consisted of loss, shame, stress and failure. That’s impressive considering we are only a month in. The new year arrived, I had no expectations, I had not made any resolutions, all I was hoping for was a calmer peaceful year ahead following the stress and panic of the previous twelve months. Sadly so far it appears that was wishful thinking.
The first incident that set the ball in motion was my failure to keep Pickles safe. For those who don’t know Pickles was our cat who is now buried under a Christmas tree in the front garden of our house. How did that happen?
Well, I noticed that Pickles had a sore/abscess on her back leg on the Friday night, messaged a lovely team mate who works for the local vets to check opening times with the intention of making an appointment to have her seen on Saturday. No problem with that, after all that’s what responsible pet owners do right? What responsible pet owners do not do is forget to lock the cat flap to ensure that the cat remains safe. Guess what idiot forgot about this small detail? Guess whose cat did not return home Saturday morning? Guess whose husband found said cat on the side of the busy main road having been hit by a car and dead on the Sunday despite searching for her on the Saturday? That’s right! Me and mine!!
Guess who couldn’t hold it together when breaking the news to the children? That would also be me. Despite my best efforts I could not hold back my tears as I sat there apologising profusely for being the cause of their broken hearts.
Now I am dealing with the shame of letting down two pets within six months. I let Dashal down because I could not provide him with the care that he needed any longer. I let Pickles down because my brain failed to think about the cat flap and I arrogantly thought we were far enough away from the main road that it would not pose a big danger.
So that was the first blow.
This was followed a few days later by the boy turning 10. It wasn’t a particularly special day for him as a result because We were stuck in a mind fog following the death of Pickles. In addition, we have not yet organised a party or gathering with his friends to celebrate because of other commitments. The main one being upcoming rugby games or training sessions.
So there’s the second fail.
Moving on to rugby, I am always convinced that I am not good enough to be a part of this amazing team that has developed. I am not fit enough to play, my lifestyle is not healthy enough, I am too weak to play and I am not contributing very much when I have played in terms of points on the board. So why am I there? The only thing I seem to do consistently is drop the damn ball and injure myself. At what point do you accept that you are now a hindrance to the team rather than an asset?
At this moment in time I am torn. I have missed a few of training sessions this season due to illness. The last session I missed was because Pickles was missing and we were looking for her. It didn’t feel right to drag my kids down to sit around while I trained, but I felt guilty for missing the session. I forced myself to go to the next session which I nearly bailed on because I didn’t feel like I could face my team mate from the vets. I felt so ashamed for making a stupid mistake. I don’t think she is even aware, but if she is I am grateful that she hasn’t asked me why I haven’t brought Pickles in to be checked.
Having said that I have had some achievements. We did play a match on Sunday which we lost. However, I managed to stay on the pitch to play the full game, kind of charged down a conversion attempt and, if the way my body is aching is any way to judge how hard I worked, I must have done a bloody good job even if I can’t remember much.
For me, this is perfectly normal, all I really remember from any match are the things I mess up and how I’m always pleased to have not passed out mid game.
I have also become aware that my brain doesn’t engage before messaging people on social media. I keep sending messages to my rugby coaches in response to social media posts which I think are funny forgetting that they are American, they don’t know me very well and therefore may misinterpret my humour. When these incidents occur I panic until the next time I see them because I am fully expecting a “funishment” to pay for my sin. So there is another one.
My daughter is struggling at school. I have felt for a long time that I am failing her because I truly believe that she needs to be assessed for dyslexia. I have felt this since she was in year 1 at school but every year when I speak to her teacher and question them about the possible need for additional support, I am effectively told that they feel with a little more concentration and effort from her she will get to the level that she needs to be.
I can recognise elements of my best friend from school within my daughter when she is processing what she needs to do. So I need to fight harder for her to ensure that she gets the support that she needs, because if I leave it any longer the long term impact on my daughters self esteem will be massive. I cannot let that happen and I am ashamed that I have let it get to this stage.
It is now at the stage that her teacher has halved the number of spellings that she is tested on each week to try and boost her confidence, which is not working because each week she is still scoring low. It is, in fact, having the opposite effect. At home she aces her spelling practice and her maths independently. All I do to assist her if she asks for help with her maths is to read the question out loud to her. That’s it. She does all the hard work herself.
I should have spoken up before but hopefully I can at least now get the ball rolling.
As you know I don’t work. I am a stay at home mum or housewife or whatever. That is my job. However, even the house is in a constant state of chaos. Why is the house chaotic? Simply because I have not done anything to sort it out and do you know why? BECAUSE I CANT BE BOTHERED!! It has dawned on me that it is a complete waste of time. Within ten minutes of the kids getting home from school it is a state again so what is the point of wasting the energy.
Instead, I spend my time on social media. I sit on my ass all day watching influencers talking about “do you know that feeling when you have used something your whole life and then it appears in your home with your name on it?” Yes Mrs Hinch, I am talking to you. I am really pleased that you have created this empire for your self, congratulations however, I cannot say I can relate with that feeling. Nor can I relate to how perfect the homes and lifestyles appear. I know it isn’t real, people only post the best version of their life online.
Life would be so much simpler if you could click your fingers and everything be perfectly placed. I wonder how long it would take me to get bored if I possessed Mary Poppins powers to clean my house. Wouldn’t that be great. Then I would be able to watch rugby games, clips and interviews with over privileged whining people complaining guilt free. That would be blooming marvellous, even if only for a day. The ability to click your fingers and have a picture perfect life for a day, perferably longer even if all you achieve is to figure out that it is worth your time doing the chores.
I am procrastinating so much that last week I invented a new game to keep myself entertained. I have come up with a name and everything. I call it “Poker for Life” The basic premise is you listen to a celebrity or famous person complain about something trivial. For example, a person who has had the most privileged life possible complaining that they had the smaller bedroom in a castle. I see your small bedroom in a castle and raise you, having to sleep on sofas or camp beds when staying with a part time parent, because there wasn’t a bed available in the house that they occupy with their new partner’s family.
Now, I appreciate that everyone suffers different levels of trauma but at least try and maintain some perspective. I mean that was part of my childhood, but I would take that experience over fleeing a war torn country not knowing whether or not I would see my family again. Given the various problems in the world right now, it seems rather petty to be complaining about silly issues that in the grand scheme of life are really just first world problems.
There isn’t much danger in our lives now, so instead we are going to moan about how someone’s words hurt our feelings. Given the choice between a punch in the face and someone calling me names, I’m going to pick the name calling every time.
Generally January seems to suck for everyone in my vicinity. Surprisingly not on a financial level but on an emotional level. All the adults seem to be trying to keep their heads above water, whilst carrying a big fat heavy demon on their back that’s trying to pull them under. I haven’t noticed before. Maybe that’s a sign of my age along with my personalised iPod and the accompanying music.
At least it’s nearly over, February will whiz by as it always does and before we know it, we will be staring down the barrel of another January. There I’ll be on the 31 December ready to remove the game cartridge from the SNES, blow it and reload for 2024.
Mumma Bear Roars 