One evening like the others

Tonight, I very nearly lost it. Well, to some extent, I did lose it.

I lost patience. I snapped. I shouted. Everything all mums hate doing.

That sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach started to build up… I hadn’t really felt much signs of anxiety for a while. We had got into this new routine.

Chemo every fortnight. About a week of ‘solo’ parenting. Another week of normal life, before we start the cycle again.
It was all going pretty smoothly. (As smooth as life with toddlers/preschoolers can go.)

We are still very lucky that Mister T is still able to work 9 out of 10 days. He can play with his boys most days. He can eat what he wants, exercise as he likes, socialise normally.

Yet, I (and I am sure, I speak for him too in this instance) cannot forget that, by all accounts he is still dying. It doesn’t prevent us from living ‘normally’ but it is this lingering feeling that people seem to forget or misunderstand.

It’s no one’s fault really. You cannot understand the emotions coming with it unless you live through it yourself. And I would not wish for anyone to experience it first hand.

In the last few days, I have started to have disturbing thoughts.
What if, in the middle of the night, Mister T suddenly needed emergency attention? Who should I call? Where should I drive him (we live in the middle of nowhere)? What should I do with our kids?…

This ‘simple’ thought started a chain reaction of anxiety I haven’t quite got a hold of yet.

It is now being fuelled by the silliest of thoughts: is Mister T sleeping too much? Is it a sign of anything else? What if the boys decide to run out onto the street? Which they’ve never done. What if I don’t stimulate them enough intellectually? What if I am too hard on them?…

With anxiety comes a never-ending list of questions.

Which only makes the feeling worse…

#mumguilt

So, after a day like today, with a naughty preschooler & a mischievous toddler, paint on the table, dinner left untouched, lots of tears, wrestling & hair pulling, and a poop on the highchair (after never-ending butt wiping episodes), my nerves cracked.

Don’t get me wrong: I do not in any way dismiss other mums’ everyday struggle.

We all have different things going on in our lives. We live in different places. Have different kids. Different dynamics. And different ways to cope.

I had managed to stay on top of all these anxious feelings with a bit of simple meditation. A few minutes before bed seemed to do wonders (once I found the right meditation guide for me).
Then I lost track and started to do it less and less often.

I knew it would catch up with me if I didn’t get back into the habit. And it did.

Now to get back on track…

What is YOUR coping mechanism? What works for you?