Ah, the irony. I’ve been wanting to write a post about how I’m feeling, but I’m so tired I have struggled to find the time. The post? It’s about how drained I am!
I’ve been wondering lately, just how much it takes to break a person? How many nights of broken sleep (10 years and counting…), oh-so-early mornings, fraught mealtimes, meltdowns, arguments, illness (them and me), anxiety, panic attacks, appointments, meetings, minutes spent worrying about school, and life in general does it take until I crack?
I am so run down. I’ve been feeling unwell for several weeks now, with a chesty, coldy virus thingy, followed by another cold and now my chest is tight again. I just can’t seem to shake it off and it’s making me feel so low. I am running on empty, and, as the saying goes, you can’t pour from an empty cup.
It’s half term here this week, so the kids are at home. I feel like the world’s crappest mum. Every night I make plans for the following day, and every morning I pretend I hadn’t and make rubbish excuses to myself for not seeing them through. I am struggling to function properly; I’m waking at around 3am each morning, whether Tink does or not (although she does, more often than not!), so by 9am I’m ready to go back to bed! But I can’t, so we just tend to veg on the sofa watching rubbish TV, playing on tablets or the computer for far longer than is really acceptable.
Today, for example, I had planned to bake cakes this morning, then this afternoon we were going to a stay and play session for children with special needs. How very ‘perfect mum’ of me. However, after yet another awful night, I couldn’t muster up the energy to make the cakes. And then there was Doris. Storm Doris, to give her her full name. She hit parts of the UK with a vengeance, wreaking all kinds of havoc in her wake. Not only did I not fancy driving across the city with trees crashing down, H is absolutely terrified of the wind and he didn’t want to leave the house. So, that was that. Instead, we made a den using the sofa, a mop and a broom, some bedding and fairy lights, and I may have hidden in it after lunch and dozed off for a few minutes…
I’m not sure how much longer I can go on. I ache, my head is fuzzy, I don’t want to eat properly. But what happens if I break? Who will do what I do? So, I must not. I must keep going. Even being an exhausted, rubbish mum is better than being a gibbering wreck, no good to anyone, I guess? Isn’t it?