I feel lifeless. Just one blog post in June so far. I’m finally not ill anymore but it seems as though I’ve been zapped of all my creative juice. I haven’t crocheted, crafted, or stitched in days and it is a lonely and confusing feeling. I am happiest when I am making and when I come up against a creative block, I feel lost.
I want to run away sometimes. Hide from life. I would love nothing more than to have more space. Space to create, to stash my fabrics and papers and yarns and hooks. Space for my children to play, to stash their own treasures, to stop the cascade of toys that is currently overtaking my bedroom and living room and kitchen…
I have an oppressive feeling of being trapped. Of not being able to dig my way of this tangle of a mess I call my life right now. Each time I feel I am moving forward, creating a plan of how to do great things, I feel knocked back.
I. HAVE. TO. GET. OUT. OF. HERE.
My kids are constantly fighting, screaming, jumping, pinching, whining. Running amok like caged animals worked into a frenzy by their imprisonment. I’m tired of being referee. And I’m tired of yelling. And tidying. And cleaning up mammoth messes. I have a collection of cleaning sprays and scrubbing cloths at the ready to tackle the endless finger smudges on walls and pen scrawls on the furniture.
I am a single mom. In every sense of that word. I single-handedly take on the job of mother and father, judge and jury. I am the “fun” parent yet also the one who has to mete out punishments. I do school runs, parent-teacher meetings, grocery shops, doctor and dentist appointments, ballet classes, homework help, baths, bedtime stories, kisses, cuddles… I don’t remember the last time I managed to eat breakfast before rushing out the door to get Emilie to school.
I’m not complaining, I guess I am venting. My kids are what keep me going. But I’ve almost completely lost my sense of self through my devotion to them. My name is Liam’s mum/Emilie’s mum/Zoie’s mum.
Who am I really?