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Little Me

In my meeting today, still looking for any positive, Susanna reassured me that I am still the good person I used to be. The good mother.

We spoke about how I have everything I wanted. My dream of having children. How I loved them being babies. How I enjoyed them. How now I don't. I can't.

We spoke about how I have written to my children. How I want them to remember me as a good, kind person and not who I am now.

What I put in my letters, I said, was because I never want them to feel how I do.

I spoke about how I try to "counsel" myself and say I am good enough, and good enough is fine, and my kids are fine and will grow up fine. I am sick and I can't do what I used to and that's OK. It's OK not to enjoy parenting. It's hard and kids are annoying at times. That's OK.

But I don't believe it. It doesn't sound truth for me.

Fake it till you make it.

Parent yourself how you parented your babies. Say to yourself all those things you write in your goodbye letters. All those things you need to tell your children so they don't feel how you do. Tell yourself, Little You, you are precious and loved and needed just how you are. Keep on saying it.

Then a hug. A wonderful way to seal that I matter. I'm precious. I'm OK.

I don't feel OK. Acceptance that I am sick and that's rubbish but is not my fault, a character flaw and doesn't make me bad mother would help. Believing I matter will help.

I'm teetering on the edge still. I hate it, it feels unbearable and I'm done. Each day feels impossible and I don't expect to survive it. But I do. I do more than survive. I meet the basic needs of my children. Sure I don't do all the amazing learning and play we used to. Sure they watch too much TV and my son plays barefoot in the rain and is grubby. That is OK. For now, at this time, when I feel terrible and I'm dying. Dying inside. Exhausted from fighting. Physical pain.

Oh Susanna how I wish I could believe you.

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