I’m very aware I’m not myself. Usually I’m a cup-half-full sort of gal and I’ve definitely been feeling my emotional cup has got a sneaky leak in the bottom.
Don’t get me wrong, I am blessed with the most wonderful children in the world (I know, yours are wonderful too, but mine are just frickin’ fantastic for me and I am a lucky, lucky soul to have them). I am lucky to be able to (hopefully) teach them things that will last them a lifetime. Love, kindness, loyalty, respect, dignity (for themselves and others), enjoying the little things. I am lucky to see them grow and turn in to bigger wonderful people, learning great things from others. They are doing well in school, they are happy and well-adjusted, they have lovely friends.
Beyond MrP’s Parkinsons, we’re in relatively good nick.
I have a great little business which gives me possibilities and I work with some fantastic people.
I have large future financial worries, but we’re not destitute now, thank goodness, and we can afford a weekly shop. I don’t like our heating bill, but I don’t currently worry about how we’ll pay it. We’re warm and have a nice home.
This blog has created endless relief. New friends, who are happy to support and show care, are popping up and I appreciate them hugely. People I would never have known without this pathway.
Long may all of these continue, although I know life can change on a dime.
We don’t live a world where rape and beatings and murder are common. I worry for my children, but it’s not about day to day survival, where water or shelter is scarce. I don’t hear them cry because their tummies ache for food.
I wonder how I came to be this woman with lucky Western world worries, middle class worries if you like, who feels so annoyingly sorry for herself.
I am always aware that I am blessed, but my glut of sadness has taken over of late. I have concerns for my own personal future, based on too many sad years. That alone is what makes me feel incredibly low. I wonder what advice my Mum would give me right now. What would I tell my own daughter, if I’m lucky enough get to a ripe old age of seeing her through far, far more of her life?
When do I stop feeling sorry for myself? Is that under my control? Just to say enough is enough, or do I need help? How do I go about getting a kick back in my step?
I miss the cheery me, the person who celebrates that little joys are always the best ones. I miss putting the best foot forward when sometimes it’s been hard to put either foot forward.
I miss, now I come to think of it, having hope for my future.
Perhaps that’s what all of this is about. Me, missing my perceived tomorrow’s. Any looks to the future now are accompanied with frownlines. My hopes for my personal future are leaking out of that cup. I know, I know, there will still be little joys and I will find my way. But a future without hope is a grey one.
How do I stop thinking less and acting with more positive intent? Should I just bear with it for the moment, ride it through, or do I need to kick myself up the arse? I should re-engage with volunteer work. That’d be a great start.
Any other ideas, completely appreciated. Yesterdays and Tomorrows are holding me back from happy todays and that is simply not what I want to teach my kids. I need to get that kicked.
Love, Mrs P