My Wednesday writing course was cancelled for this week, in place of it, my wife (The Mighty Rosie) and I went to dinner by ourselves, a rare treat. I would love to say we enjoyed it. The food was terrible and we were both not in a fantastic head space. My wife then went into a long conversation about me not being happy and what I should be doing, or am not doing. It’s not a great feeling, when you think you are doing ok and then you’re told you are not. It’s deflating to say the least.
It came from a place of love and her trying to help, nothing she said could be fact checked into being entirely wrong, but it did sort of feel like having my flaws and lack of personal growth just being listed. Are harsh truths necessary? Yes. Do they help? Often. Did I enjoy this particular litany of failings? No, as you can imagine.
It’s been a rough month or two, work has only got busier, pressure is more on than before and my boss took half of last month off. Am trying not to carry that stuff home, but to be honest, it’s there. There’s so much I have to do there too. I don’t feel like there’s every half an hour to think, where I am not too exhausted or burnt out to do it.
Last night I got some. There’s stuff I need to do here, I think maybe I need to see someone on a regular basis, after finishing my last bout of therapy (the first that has ever done any sort of good) I’ve been wondering what to do next, maybe wondering too long, spinning my wheels sort of thing.
I have plans, ideas about what to do next. Things I should have already been doing.
This morning did not start well, my son was getting a carry downstairs and then let go on the stairs. Kinda lost my s**t there. Then was the whole refusing to dress and throwing clothes at me thing. Sort of lost my s**t again (I’m clearly not the hero in this story, I accept that) with my wife downstairs, I took the chance to get myself ready away from everyone and then return, calm and ready and sort things out in a calm and rational manner. As I was doing so, my wife waded in and well, to be honest I didn’t always enjoying being a child, feeling like one now, doesn’t do it for me.
I need to be doing better than this.
It’s hard, it really is some days and I forget that.
Each day is a fresh battle, each morning, all the s**t in my head and on my plate step into the ring ready to battle. I’m not always so ready, and it’s not always just me who suffers. I have my feet planted and am ready to start round two. I’ve stuff to make up for now, people to be better for.
I’m not writing this to share as much as I want it out of my own head. I hate days like this, when all you feel is what you aren’t and the outside world only sees the wrong you do. I am judging myself and am being judged on two minutes with my son and not the hour or so we were happy and jokey with one another afterwards, or the ticklefest we had once we’d made friends.