Its quarter to eleven at night. I should go to bed. I’m not a night owl, and its not my day to sleep in tomorrow.
But I’m restless. My mind is wandering; thinking thoughts far too quickly for me. Words that need to be written and recorded. Captured, sorted and tried to make some kind of sense of.
I’m not a good mum.
I’m not saying that to get nice comments saying, ‘yes you are,’ or to get some kind of pick me up.
I’m telling you my truth as I know it right now.
I do not feel like a good mum.
I’m a yeller. I’m not proud of it, but I am. I yell at my kids, and nag and dictate and go on and on and on. Boatman is always reminding me to lower my voice. I don’t want to be a yeller. I don’t want to be like this.
But today…today I took yelling to the extreme. I started loud and kept going up. I physically hurt my throat.
I could justify it. I could tell you that my foot was sore. I stood on something in the middle of the night last night, and it’s sore and swollen, and possibly infected. And boatman was doing a fishing charter, so I was on my own, and having to do everything, when all I wanted to do was sit.
I could tell you that Ava would not stop crying. That she wanted to play with the knobs in the oven, and when I told her no, she didn’t like it. And then I could tell you that she turned one of the hot plates on, and there was an oven tray on top of it, with an oven mit on top of that. I got it quickly, before it started burning. Thank God for that oven tray, otherwise… I don’t want to think it.
I could tell you that Taylah, for all her academic brilliance, is the blondest person I have ever met. And when I am tired and sore, and already feeling bad because Ava nearly set the house on fire, and she is screaming, and determined to play with the oven, and I have to chase her down, or carry her, and my foot is crying out in pain…I don’t cope with ditzy very well. It frustrates me.
So I yell.
And the poor little thing is trying to tell me what happened, but is so scared she will get into trouble (for doing nothing), that she can’t get the words out, that I yell some more.
I don’t just yell. I screech.
So you see, I am not a good mother.
I need help.
I’ve been fighting going back on my Zoloft. Trying to push through, and deal with whatever. I haven’t slid back as far as I was when I started; I’m not quite as miserable. I thought maybe I could work my issues through, and avoid the medication route. I thought I could do it on my own.
But that’s the problem with PND; faulty thinking. Who knows what the hell is right?
What I do know, is that I have not enjoyed these school holidays. Usually I love them. But I have been angry and impatient, and absent. I’ve put problem behaviours in the too hard basket. I’ve been reactive instead of proactive. My mind has been foggy; I just can’t see clearly. Like I’m spending my days going through that alcohol induced haze that comes from drinking far too much.
And it’s hurting my family. They do not need a mother who yells; who undoes all the good she tried doing by a surprise visit to the waterpark. A raised voice should be the exception, not the norm. They deserve better. They should have better.
And the only way I know how to do that is, to start by taking a little white pill.
So tomorrow morning, before the pancake breakfast, before more than a handful of people even know this post is here, I’ll be back on Zoloft. Trying to be a better mum.
Trying to be a better person.
Just trying to be better.
Because bad mum or not, I love those little people so very much, and I will give them better.
Disclaimer: I just want you to know that although my voice is loud, I do not verbally abuse my children; I don’t put them down or swear at them. I express my frustration with their actions. It’s still not right, but you should know. And I am getting help