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To the moon and back….

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Me and my kids have a tradition, they get into bed and we say “I love you to the moon and back, night night sleep tight, see you in the morning light”. Then after they fall asleep I sneak back in their rooms and watch them sleep for a minute. They’re beautiful and peaceful and safe in their beds.
After that I spend the evening watching tv, tidying up, setting out uniform and going to bed myself. Then instead of sleep something switches in my head and I spend the rest of the night going back into their rooms checking on them.
I check on them at
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least once an hour all through the night. It’s exhausting and painful and it’s my tradition, the one that keeps me from spinning out, keeps the dark, the panic at bay. We go to museums and parks and garden centres. And with every glance from a stranger, every shove of a crowd, every person who comes too close or close enough I can feel it creeping over my shoulder, wrapping its fingers round my mind.
I have Anxiety. I’ve never allowed myself to say it, never acknowledged it. To acknowledge it would be to admit that I’m weak, a bad mother,
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broken.
But I deserve better than that and my kids deserve better than that. I have Anxiety. I have medication that makes me sick and unable to eat and an appointment with a counsellor. I have Anxiety. But I will get better and I am strong.
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MotherOfChaos

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- 5 Feb 20

Me and my kids have a tradition, they get into bed and we say “I love you to the moon and back, night night sleep tight, see you in the morning light”. Then after they fall asleep I sneak back in their rooms and watch them sleep for a minute. They’re beautiful and peaceful and safe in their beds.
After that I spend the evening watching tv, tidying up, setting out uniform and going to bed myself. Then instead of sleep something switches in my head and I spend the rest of the night going back into their rooms checking on them.
I check on them at least once an hour all through the night. It’s exhausting and painful and it’s my tradition, the one that keeps me from spinning out, keeps the dark, the panic at bay. We go to museums and parks and garden centres. And with every glance from a stranger, every shove of a crowd, every person who comes too close or close enough I can feel it creeping over my shoulder, wrapping its fingers round my mind.
I have Anxiety. I’ve never allowed myself to say it, never acknowledged it. To acknowledge it would be to admit that I’m weak, a bad mother, broken.
But I deserve better than that and my kids deserve better than that. I have Anxiety. I have medication that makes me sick and unable to eat and an appointment with a counsellor. I have Anxiety. But I will get better and I am strong.

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MotherOfChaos

Mother of chaos. Calmer of tantrums. Worker of shifts. Drinker of wine.

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