It’s a time of new beginnings. the LO starts school on Tuesday and I start university at the end of the month. The acknowledgement that I am in the last throes of being a mother to a preschool child is bittersweet. This is true of most endings and beginnings I imagine. Certainly my history is not so much peppered with them but blasted in an AK-47 sort of way. LO starting school has no regret though, only excitement tinged with a bit of mournfulness. Whereas for a good 25 years of my life I seem to have made promise after promise to end a type of behaviour or endeavour to begin a new way of life. I have a drawer of gym clothes and unused yoga mats that can attest to this.. as can my recycling bin of empty wine bottles.
The reproach can attack at any point during the day, at the roundabout, a flashback of some sleazy scene in my 20’s that provoked days of guilt and promises to be a better person. A TV advert might suddenly devour my insides, chewing my guts up and spitting out gruesome, disfigured moths – no beautiful butterflies for that scene. I look over my shoulder whilst the demons retract into the shadows with whispers of reprisal and glory. I still shudder and cringe waiting to feel like I can let it all go. Like I can grow up. Finally. When will I stop feeling like that failure of a lost child who blindly kept pushing buttons in the hope that one day she’d push the right one. That one day, acceptance and forgiveness would reign, freeing her from the regret and anger, the self-loathing and self-destruction that still threatens to drag her under the waves.
Slowly I am feeding my child. I am watering her with goodness. I am telling her that life is OK, she will succeed. She does have a right to succeed. As tears flow down my cheeks as I type. As I revel in the amazement that I am writing this on a public forum, that despite not divulging specifics I am still telling my story. I am finally writing it down. For years I have been told to write; to put pen to paper, fingers to keys and to record my life so far. And whilst I can’t ever do this verbatim, I can slowly let some of it out. Bit by bit.
So here’s to an educated and more content Chloe, a better and calmer mother and a more understanding and accepting wife. Here’s to the future.