This summer has been hard. The past eight years have been hard, but summer holidays amplify all the tribulations of family life. We are collectively thrown by the lack of routine and the pressures of filling endless days. And this year I have had the onset of perimenopause - and with it crippling anxiety and mood swings - to contend with as well. Today is the last day of this seemingly infinite slog, and the past six weeks have come crashing down on me.
This family we have made: four broken souls with loss and grief in their hearts, finding each other, stumbling through together and trying our best to make it work. So much love, but so much hurting, too. In the beginning there was more support, but that has faded, especially since the pandemic when everyone else has been riding out their own rollercoaster.
Sustaining friendships while parenting children with trauma is hard. You are spent from absorbing all their angst, exhausted from helping them just get through the day in a world which overwhelms them. Others don't see it because often to the outside world the kids smooth over their emotions and behaviours, to fit in. But at home it flows freely: all the pain and disconnectedness spews out and envelops the nearest other beings, the ones whose love can be trusted.
You have nothing left to give, and when you do see people, it is hard to connect. You feel like you're no fun to be around. So friendships inevitably wither, leaving behind an aching loneliness, more loss and grief to ride out. You torment yourself looking at photos online, of friends who used to include you, having fun without you. You understand why they have left you behind, because you haven't been a good friend, you haven't been there for them when they needed you. Because you couldn't. But still it is painful and you wish you could slip back into that carefree, comfortable zone. Being at the front of people's minds, top of their invite list, instead of a sad and depleted person who brings everyone down. You want to be a good friend again, you try to find that person inside. You want to tell them you still love and think about them, and need their friendship and support more than ever, but you don't know how to ask for help. Instead you bury it all down and and take a deep breath.
You wonder how you'll keep going, but somehow, you do. Because the children need you.
A scant few hours of sleep eventually found me. I woke with the sun, feeling hollow and raw. Hoping for a good day to heal the pain. Reaching for some hidden inner strength and a second cup of tea. He goes off to work and I am left alone with it all again. What will today bring? A spark of spontaneous joy? An unexpected hug? Some sibling harmony? A text from an old friend? I can but hope. But meanwhile, the show must go on and it will.
