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I’m tired.
Tired of the six rooms and four walls that now represent my existence.
Tired of the constant bickering, nagging, whinging.
Tired of being climbed on/over and of no one heeding my words.
Of the lack of space. Both the physical and metaphorical kind.
I’m tired of feeling like a bad mum because we haven’t built a Michelangelo-worthy dinosaur out of fucking loo rolls like the rest of the families I see on Instagram.
Tired of lesson planning in the one hour I get without work or kids each evening.
Of trying to keep a
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small business afloat. One I’ve spent so much time, love and effort building.
And worrying about what might happen and where we could be in two weeks, two months, two years…
Tired of not being able to give my best in any aspect of my life… mum, wife, daughter, writer or friend.
I’m tired of the fear. Fear that my kids will fall behind at school, that someone I love might succumb to the virus, of my mental health failing, of not being able to pay the bills.
I’m tired of the omnipresent TV. Especially Peter bloody Rabbit.
Tired of
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my own angry, scolding, sometimes shouty voice.
Of feeling alone even though I’m anything but.
And of not knowing when or if all of this will come to an end.
But most of all, I’m just tired.
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Little Lion - 13 Apr 20
I’m tired.
Tired of the six rooms and four walls that now represent my existence.
Tired of the constant bickering, nagging, whinging.
Tired of being climbed on/over and of no one heeding my words.
Of the lack of space. Both the physical and metaphorical kind.
I’m tired of feeling like a bad mum because we haven’t built a Michelangelo-worthy dinosaur out of fucking loo rolls like the rest of the families I see on Instagram.
Tired of lesson planning in the one hour I get without work or kids each evening.
Of trying to keep a small business afloat. One I’ve spent so much time, love and effort building.
And worrying about what might happen and where we could be in two weeks, two months, two years…
Tired of not being able to give my best in any aspect of my life… mum, wife, daughter, writer or friend.
I’m tired of the fear. Fear that my kids will fall behind at school, that someone I love might succumb to the virus, of my mental health failing, of not being able to pay the bills.
I’m tired of the omnipresent TV. Especially Peter bloody Rabbit.
Tired of my own angry, scolding, sometimes shouty voice.
Of feeling alone even though I’m anything but.
And of not knowing when or if all of this will come to an end.
But most of all, I’m just tired.
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Professional writer. Wife. Mum of two