On Friday night I hit a brick wall. I posted about it as writing for me is therapeutic. It helps sort out all the cr*p racing around in my brain.
In that post, I had a plan to pull myself together and it was going to be okay. But it wasn’t. The plan didn’t work and on Saturday evening I seriously imploded. After a full day of cooking, washing, chores and being taxi driver to the kids without so much as 30 minutes to myself, that brick wall fell down on me.
And then I got up and I ran.
I literally, got in my car and just drove. I had to get away. Not having anywhere, or anyone, to go to, I sat in a dark car-park and I cried and I prayed while summoning the courage to go home. I just didn’t want to see anyone, deal with anyone. I was overwhelmed, so completely wrung out, frantic in a way, and p*ssed off.
When I did go home I spent the evening upstairs with my daughter – she reads me like a book, even at seven years old and she above all people, knew what I needed. I hate that she sees me so strung out, I hate that my personality is like this, I wish I was built differently in many ways.
But I realised something this morning:
So the journey continues…
photo credit (image background): rumpleteaser cc
