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Mother, heal thyself

1
I’m a mum of one, a pre-teen. I worry. I worry a lot. But doesn’t everyone? I don’t worry that if my son doesn’t phone me back, then he’s been abducted or knocked over. Rather I have mini worries. I worry when the sports coach walks over towards me. (What has he done?) I worry when the teacher wants to speak to me. (What hasn’t he done?) I worry that he is messing around and not trying his best in school. (How do you find out for real?) I worry that everything seems to be going OK for a while. (But then is it?) I worry that I make ridiculous small
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talk at work and that people will remember one stupid comment I made last year. I worry that I’m not feeding my child enough good food. I worry because someone, who I’m not that close to, didn’t reply to me. (Is she cross with me? What did I do?) I worry that I’m the only one who can’t get organised by the first half-term of the school year in terms of menu planning and household admin. (No one else is like this, surely?) I worry because I forgot two good friends’ birthdays. (I would understand if they forgot mine though!)

***

An ironic

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windfall of extra time off work (due to a sick child) affords me the luxury of thinking space. I’ve just had a half-term off, you may say, or not as you don’t know me. As I write at my kitchen table, door open and french doors too, the sun shines in but the breeze has blown something off my mantelpiece. Interrupting my flow, I pick it up. I must have known what it was – a photo of my son and I on a rare day out, just the two of us, in the summer. We visited the capital, shopped and sight-saw (sight-seed?!) and had an ”official” photo taken. It was
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well worth the extortionate cost. He’s actually smiling and we both look very happy. This is an omen, this is what my recovery can focus on. This is my purpose. He is my purpose. And through that, I help myself. Physician, heal thyself – mother heal thyself.

I needed more time off work. I now come to a conclusion I need to seek help to sort my worry, my low mood. After feeling like I would be wasting a professional’s time, I realise I deserve help. I have started to sow seeds in different areas, hopeful that some, if not all, will be fruitful. I

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have upped my journalling, checking in on a few plans I made some months ago. Recording helps. I have enjoyed preparing meals for my poorly child – nourishment for him, mental nourishment for me. Purpose helps. I admitted my embarrassing stressy habits to friends last week. I am now stopping picking my skin! Telling people helped – connection helps. I spent a small fortune on a hair treatment; everyone knows that when my hair is good, I feel better. Self-care helps. I planned to walk more. I haven’t started that yet; it’s hard when you’re
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housebound with a poorly child, but I will. As long as this sun waits for me, doesn’t hide in November’s chilly afternoons. Movement helps. I am writing more and drawing – cartoons if you ever! Creativity helps. These themes appear and reappear time and time again:

recording;
purpose;
connection;
self-care;
movement;
creativity.

If I write it, I should do it. Here’s to recording my journey, creating something positive to come out of a particularly nasty week of illness for my child. Making the most of my time windfall. I am a mother, I

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will heal myself.
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- 31 Oct 18

I’m a mum of one, a pre-teen. I worry. I worry a lot. But doesn’t everyone? I don’t worry that if my son doesn’t phone me back, then he’s been abducted or knocked over. Rather I have mini worries. I worry when the sports coach walks over towards me. (What has he done?) I worry when the teacher wants to speak to me. (What hasn’t he done?) I worry that he is messing around and not trying his best in school. (How do you find out for real?) I worry that everything seems to be going OK for a while. (But then is it?) I worry that I make ridiculous small talk at work and that people will remember one stupid comment I made last year. I worry that I’m not feeding my child enough good food. I worry because someone, who I’m not that close to, didn’t reply to me. (Is she cross with me? What did I do?) I worry that I’m the only one who can’t get organised by the first half-term of the school year in terms of menu planning and household admin. (No one else is like this, surely?) I worry because I forgot two good friends’ birthdays. (I would understand if they forgot mine though!)

***

An ironic windfall of extra time off work (due to a sick child) affords me the luxury of thinking space. I’ve just had a half-term off, you may say, or not as you don’t know me. As I write at my kitchen table, door open and french doors too, the sun shines in but the breeze has blown something off my mantelpiece. Interrupting my flow, I pick it up. I must have known what it was – a photo of my son and I on a rare day out, just the two of us, in the summer. We visited the capital, shopped and sight-saw (sight-seed?!) and had an “official” photo taken. It was well worth the extortionate cost. He’s actually smiling and we both look very happy. This is an omen, this is what my recovery can focus on. This is my purpose. He is my purpose. And through that, I help myself. Physician, heal thyself – mother heal thyself.

I needed more time off work. I now come to a conclusion I need to seek help to sort my worry, my low mood. After feeling like I would be wasting a professional’s time, I realise I deserve help. I have started to sow seeds in different areas, hopeful that some, if not all, will be fruitful. I have upped my journalling, checking in on a few plans I made some months ago. Recording helps. I have enjoyed preparing meals for my poorly child – nourishment for him, mental nourishment for me. Purpose helps. I admitted my embarrassing stressy habits to friends last week. I am now stopping picking my skin! Telling people helped – connection helps. I spent a small fortune on a hair treatment; everyone knows that when my hair is good, I feel better. Self-care helps. I planned to walk more. I haven’t started that yet; it’s hard when you’re housebound with a poorly child, but I will. As long as this sun waits for me, doesn’t hide in November’s chilly afternoons. Movement helps. I am writing more and drawing – cartoons if you ever! Creativity helps. These themes appear and reappear time and time again:

recording;
purpose;
connection;
self-care;
movement;
creativity.

If I write it, I should do it. Here’s to recording my journey, creating something positive to come out of a particularly nasty week of illness for my child. Making the most of my time windfall. I am a mother, I will heal myself.

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Carron Stacey, a late-40s mum who works in school to keep her sanity. Enjoys the beach and the humdrum things in life. Mum to a tweenie boy, living on the coast in the UK.

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