Friday 21 November 2014

How Low Can You Go

It's not a good day. It's a cry at the drop of a hat day. Worse still, when I am in that mood, Aaron gives me reasons to cry.

I got up ten minutes late, but still tried to stick to our normal routine. As Aaron sat on my knee having his breakfast and watching TV, under the blanket that has become necessity since the dark cold mornings began, I read this: "You don't have to be a writer". Even though I knew some very good writing would ensue, given the capabilities of that blogger, I was already stopped in my tracks by the heading. When I realised that my writing is below par, I stopped writing from the heart, quite some time ago. Given that I already was not a foodie, or a crafter, or a home interiors, or beauty blogger, it didn't leave me with much. Which is why you more often that not just see blog posts that are a showcase of "we did this" or "he did that". The heart and soul went out of my blog a long time ago, and recent readers would not even know it was ever there. But it was. Oh yes it was. 

But I put my blog and a piece of my broken self in a tupperware box, and it was only reading that post this morning that made me come face to face with that reality. Not whilst reading. No, of course not. Whilst reading I was caught up in Mammy Woo's world, enjoying her writing style so very much and feeling empathy with everything she described. My overwhelming feeling whilst reading, was that I was so so very glad that she was back. The blogging world is quite a two dimensional place, and it is people like her, would provide its colour. I like colour.

So, back to my morning. I got in the shower late. But rushed like a loon so that we made up for some lost time. As he often does since the mornings got colder, Aaron stayed watching TV whilst I got the bikes out. Today is the first day that the curtains were still closed as we left, as it was THAT dark, but thankfully it wasn't actually dark by the time we set off. Thank God as despite buying red and white lights for both of our bikes months ago, I still haven't put them on.

There's a slight incline shortly after we leave here, and Aaron always cycles up it. I always walk, being that I am not as fit. Today he struggled as he was in waterproofs and his school shoes were slipping on the wet pedals. As I could see he was struggling with the incline I put my hand on his back, careful not to push as I know only too well that he likes to do everything. everything. by. himself! Anyway he went loop the loop. "Why did you push me?" "I can do it by myself" and so on. He went to go back to the start, to prove he could do it by himself. This is where I went into a panic, because two days ago we were so late, the register had already been done, so we'd had to sign in at reception. It'd made me feel like we were listed in a naughty book and I swore I would never go through that again. My panic overspilled and I said to Aaron "you can't cycle up again, we can't be late and I don't want to end up in that book" - he saw my distress, didn't know how to process it, and went into "paddy" mode. When he saw this distressed me further he was at a complete loss and started to kick me again and again, with a line of cars stuck in traffic staring at us. He then said "I don't care if you go in that book" "I want you to go in that book" and I cried. Right there in front of the traffic a 4 year old boy made me cry. My.son.

I then went through the motions. We cycled to school. We padlocked the bikes. I walked him round to his class. Just as I was about to leave the class, after taking off his waterproofs and hanging up his coat, they started to sing the "we've stopped we've stopped we've finished song". Aaron came over to me, so that we could sing it together before I'd leave, like we do everyday. I had eyes full of tears and a throat that wouldn't swallow. I couldn't do it. I couldn't act. Acting is a lie and I never lie. So. I pushed him towards the carpet, and said "Aaron go to registration". He wouldn't leave my side so I said "Aaron you kicked Mummy today, so no, I am not going to sing with you". He looked completely crushed and my heart broke into a million pieces right there and then.

As I left the classroom the tears fell.

I was left with mixed feelings. "Would his hurt spoil his day?" wrestled with "Good! Now he knows how I feel". Only, because I haven't got a wicked cruel bone in my body, the first was loud and the latter was a mere whisper. I never, ever, ever, want people to know how I feel. This is the very essence of my problem and always has been. So no, I didn't want to hurt Aaron. But, I could not sing. What's worse is, the Teacher's Assistant heard me tell him that I wouldn't sing. I would never normally show vulnerability like that. Aaron's school life is perfect and I want it to be ever so. But the dam of tears and the floodgates of emotions were open. Reading Mammy Woo's post had ensured that. The genie was out of the box. Pain was outside. The tupperware box was open.

I left the classroom at the same time as two other Mums and we had a bit of a giggle and order was restored. But then I bumped into the headmistress and we ended up talking PTA stuff. To cut a long story short it meant I needed to go back into school.

I went to reception, so that they could print out something I had emailed them a week ago. I was able to say the date that I'd sent it etc.... I waited ten minutes while they looked for my email. I was then told "can you send it again". I knew that the internet data on my phone ran out about a week ago. I knew it doesn't refresh till 24th. I knew that this would mean cycling home, and then cycling back in again, so that I could cut up all the tickets (I'd designed about 8 to a page). I knew that today was the first day I had to myself this whole week. I knew this wasn't going to work for me. I knew I would put myself last and do it. I always do. I quietly left the building and got on my bike and cried all the way home.

Anyone reading this will wonder. Why does her not being able to find your email make you cry? Well the answer to that is ever so simple. Since my self esteem issues began, I have felt invisible. THAT I have blogged about before. Her not finding my email was yet another symbol of my invisibility. The word invisible doesn't even enter my head. It is a feeling, that has a note, like a musical note. Whenever anything occurs that is at the very essence THAT, it is like a knife in my heart. When I am "myself" of course something like that wouldn't bother me, it'd be like water off a duck's back. But broken me, doesn't like to be invisible. Broken me wants to dance on tables and shout at the top of my voice "I'm here". Hey and my email is too.

I feel fine now. But the come down after a cry like that isn't really fine. It's NUMB fine. So today I will sleep walk through the day, in that numb way that is my way of coping. I guess that too, is something that Mammy Woo described. Another reason I resonate with her post.

So that's me. You see. Now you know why I don't write like this, because really I am NOT a writer. Yes, I can string a sentence together, but THAT is not writing. Writing has a melody and a style and I have neither.

EDIT: I didn't have to go back to school after all. The wonderful school secretary printed everything out and cut up the tickets, so all done. I had a lovely sausage and bacon sandwich and order was restored until walking back from the shops a car was so keen to overtake a bus that it did so, whilst driving through a LARGE puddle that resulted in the puddle becoming my clothes. Not normally a problem, but I was carrying a packet of toilet roll in and amongst my shopping, that I had not put in a carrier bag........... GGGgggrrrrrrrrrrrr! 

Sorry, I totally forgot to say, I found this this morning and it is brilliant:

Bye for now, Liska xxx


  1. Ohh Liska, don't under estimate yourself, you are a writer and you can certainly write from the heart. I hope the day has panned out to be a good one. Mich x

  2. Oh gosh, I can feel your numbness and know the note of invisibility. Being a writer is surely a frame of mind if it is not about writing sentences. I hope order finds it's way to your self esteem; you are visible, you are human, you are worth it and most of all, you are a writer.

  3. Sorry to be just catching up with this. You are a wonderful writer and exercising necessary discipline with your son. It will only get harder as he becomes older and he forever push against boundaries so you must assert them best you can. You are not wrong for doing the right thing and firmness now will pay off in the long run, I promise and must emphasise. Things do not get easier as they get older and bigger - but harder and we always have to draw deep within ourselves. It's tough, but a sausage and bacon sandwich sounds like a great support! Well done Liska XXX


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