Today I want to talk about my arsehole. No – not my actual arsehole – although if you want to talk post partum or ‘forever partum’ piles for that matter, I’m all ears. Note to self : I must try and write a blog that doesn’t mention body parts soon.
Anyway! My arsehole is what I like to call the fucking twat of a negative voice inside my head. The one that says I’m not a good enough mum, wife, weight, daughter and friend. The one that when I look in the mirror screams out my bad points instead of my good. The critical arsehole that simply never shuts up. The voice I think but shouldn’t believe.
I’m not even sure how I got to this point in life. I used to be so outgoing and fearless, I holiday repped in Gran Canaria and took charge of 30 or so drunken lads on bar crawls and managed to see them all safe at the end of the night, I flew plane loads of intoxicated clubbers from Manchester to Ibiza when I was cabin crew without breaking a sweat and I stood face to face with a woman built like a brick shithouse who was threatening to cut my face up with a glass bottle of champagne unless I gave her another out the onboard bar while somehow managing to stay calm.
Now I find myself avoiding walking past large groups at the play park with my son, I cross the road if I see anyone approaching in a hoody (or similar life threatening get up) and I seriously hate large crowds on nights out.
At first becoming a mother gave me so much confidence, I formed new friendships at mother and baby groups, I lost weight whilst surviving on a diet of cake and biscuits because of breastfeeding (God bless those magic milk making 500 calories) and I found myself embracing a beautiful relationship with my newborn.
Then as the months went by the mum’s I had forged close networks with returned to their careers whilst I chose stay at home, I started to gain back all the weight I had lost as I’d made the switch from breast to bottle but hadn’t scrapped the endless supply of victoria sponge and hobnobs and the beautiful newborn I was so close to became a screaming banshee who threw tantrums when I gave him the red lego instead of the yellow. And I dreaded going out in public in case said banshee kicked off in a public place.
How did becoming a mother make me such a nervous wreck! Like literally I find myself sweating with anxiety in certain situations and I worry about ridiculous things – when I drive on the motorway I worry I’m going to crash, when I’m walking along the canal I become convinced that a camouflaged murderer is following me but most of all I worry every single day about my son and how I will keep an exploring toddler safe.
But I don’t want to carry on like this. I just want to enjoy my son. I don’t want to have this arsehole inside me pointing out all the negative crap anymore. I’ve battled with depression and anxiety earlier in my life I’ve done the whole counselling, CBT and meds route and I thought I was done. Yet here I am back on the happy pills wondering how it all reversed back to this point. Wondering how the voice I think but shouldn’t believe is back and back with a vengeance.
Becoming a mother didn’t come easy to us as some of you know – but that’s a whole other blog to be written – and believe me, I know how lucky I am, my boy is my entire life, but I’ll admit I’m really struggling with this new found mentality I find myself living with. I’m sick of this arsehole being the voice that filters my entire thoughts.
I’m sick of comparing myself to the size 8 mums who upload a cracking selfie to my newsfeed with their 3 kids in the background of their spotless home while I barely manage to find my concealer most days. Instead of comparing myself this way I want myself to be GOOD ENOUGH.
This idea of perfection needs to stop. No one has the perfect life. So why do I still feel like this? Why is my arsehole not listening to reason?! What’s wrong with me!!! I have no idea how to ‘not think’ anymore.
I want to be a role model to my son, I don’t want him to have the fears and negative voices that I have. I want him to look in the mirror and feel confident, I want him to feel like he can achieve his dreams without any doubts and I never want him to feel scared. The first step to my son believing in himself is to learn by example and with this in mind I’m about to start a month of hypnotherapy.
I want to start seeing the good again. I want to focus more on my achievements than my failures. I don’t want to feel scared in public anymore and most of all I just want to feel good enough again. Maybe if my arsehole won’t listen to my cognitive brain he might quieten the fuck down with some subliminal messaging. I’m excited to see if it works. In the meantime if anyone else feels like me you’re not alone. You are good enough. And that voice you think but shouldn’t believe? – Well he’s just an arsehole.
God Bless. Until next time…..