A moment of eureka!

Recently I’ve been feeling disappointed in myself, like I can’t quite get things right, I’m not the person I think I could be, or think I should have been. Like I didn’t live up to my potential. This is particularly true professionally (as in for all my potential at school and good university grades, I’m plodding away in an unfulfilling dead end job – I know, I know, I should be grateful I even have a job right now)

Job wise, redundancies are yet again on the cards and all around me people are working diligently to prove themselves worth keeping, but me? I can’t seem to muster up the fight and I keep wondering what on earth is wrong with me. Like it or loathe it, I need this job. So what is holding me back? Why am I failing miserably to rise to the challenge?  Why am I practically throwing it away?

I don’t know whether it’s that I see the writing on the wall and don’t feel like flogging a dead horse, maybe sometimes. But you know, thinking about it, I do keep trying, I’ve volunteered for a number of projects, tried to make myself useful wherever I can, but in all honesty I’m finding it really hard to get myself noticed and then when I find myself scratching around trying to look busy but with not much to actually do, I inevitably feel paranoid that I’m about to find my head on the chopping block.

The problem is that I’m quiet, verging on shy even, not especially confident. I often feel like I speak a different language to most people here, I don’t speak fluent “business”, and as a result I’m often at a loss for what to say and how to respond. I’ve been blaming myself for not being dynamic and confident enough, not being enough of a go-getter, missing opportunities. But I really think I’m being way too hard on myself here.

I have always felt different to other people, slightly out of the mainstream, I always believed I would need to carve out my own path because the “main road” wasn’t for me. But then I don’t know what happened, I suppose I got sucked in by the passing traffic and ended up trying to make my way on the conventional road anyway. And for the most part I do a passable job of seeming normal and like everyone else, but inside I repeatedly feel like I can’t quite pull it off, I don’t quite make the grade. I’m a rather quiet and sensitive person and it’s hard for people like me to make an impact on the mainstream. My voice gets lost in the melee, I find it hard to speak up in groups, in meetings and therefore people often overlook me. It really feels that it doesn’t matter how hard I work I’ll never climb far up the business ladder because I’m almost invisible to people. I’m a lot like the city I live in, my charms aren’t so obvious, you need to get to know me first!

For a long time I’ve blamed myself, I’ve fought to toughen up and speak up, but no matter how hard I try to keep “in” I always end up on the outside looking in. And now I’m turning on myself because I’m failing to make an impact, because I can’t keep up when and blaming myself isn't helping anyone. 

I’m starting to wake up to the fact that I’m punishing myself for everything I’m not, and completely ignoring everything I am. Isn't it time I stopped trying to be what everyone else thinks I should be, and let my own light shine. The world is missing out of my own unique skills (whatever they may be!) while I struggle to be something I’m not. I need to find somewhere I will be appreciated and somewhere I can make a genuine difference, where my strengths are respected

So where did this all start? Well, my mum suffered with some heavy duty depression throughout my childhood and couldn’t really cope with having children. I remember at infant school being really familiar with the word “zombie” because she was doped up all the time on tranquilisers (my poor mum has no memory of me at this point of our lives). She used to be constantly at war with all the kids on the street (while I hid beneath the window pretending I wasn’t in) – which set me up as the outsider from the beginning, Inevitably I found it easier to live in a fantasy world.

This isn’t me feeling sorry for myself, or making excuses for how I turned out, neither am I having a dig at my mum  - all of those things implied I think I turned out badly, and I’m starting to see now that really I didn’t, I’m fine as I am. And I love my mum to bits, she did the best she could under difficult circumstances and never really found the right help… but that’s another story.

But I did feel set apart from the crowd from the start. Growing up with a mum with depression gave me much more sympathy and understanding than most other kids, I was more serious, a bit darker and a lot less care free. As a teenager I sought out interests that were alternative to the mainstream and the differences became more pronounced, I listened to heavy metal rather than chart music, I read and enjoyed sci-fi and fantasy – anything that allowed me to escape myself. I read up on different faiths around the world and throughout history, fascinated by Wicca and fairies, all things supernatural. I painted, I wrote, though I barely socialised. And all of this has given me different cultural points of reference to the mainstream today. It’s not only in work that I often feel like I speak another language, it’s in society as a whole.

But strangely for the first time maybe ever I’m starting to see that actually there’s nothing wrong with who I am. Actually I’m ok. I need to forget about what I’m not and nurture who I am, grow those skills and focus on those talents. It’s time I tried to stop pleasing the mainstream and answer more to myself. It’s time to carve out my own path, finally.

A little amendment....

Twitter - Ok, it looks like I won't be setting up a work account, but it is still useful for my job.Therefore I will log in under my name but use this account for work purposes and post nothing personal. It is for following work and business interests. I might occassionally retweet something of interest but I doubt it, it's more for following than posting. Also, because I'm not using it to be the voice of my organisation this limits its use on the business front again, I can't really use it to further my professional reputation. Best kept to following than posting most certainly, have scant information on there. For anything personal or connecting with people outside of work, then Lilia Lovise.

Am I a person or a brand?

I used to keep work and my private life very separate, there was quite a distinctive difference between the home “me” friends and family knew and the work “me” my colleagues saw each day. Now social media has blurred that line and I’m getting my knickers in a twist over it. I find myself worrying about how I’m putting myself across, could it harm my career, do I really want colleagues knowing more about me than I’d like them to know… I’ve started to think of myself more as a brand than a person

I’ve backed myself into a corner on Facebook by accepting too many people as friends – from people I work with, to relatives of my husband – his cousins, his mother even.  Like many people, I did it for the numbers, I collected friends rather than stuck to real friends so I’d look more popular. Now I’m silenced by an awareness of my audience – some of them are colleagues so I can’t whinge about work and I’m aware of the need to censor myself so that I don’t shoot myself in the foot professionally, some of them are family so I certainly can’t moan about the in laws – I’m left not knowing what on earth to update my status with and after a few utterly boring and innocuous status updates I barely post anything anymore and Facebook has lost its interest for me.

I feel like I need to set myself some ground rules, so here they are:

·         Facebook: That ship has sailed and it’s too late to call it back. Since my name and face are attached it, and colleagues and family are contacts on it, I need to be discrete and don’t reveal too much. So I will keep it for personal things, but be very selective about what I do post. The glamour of presenting a wonderful and exciting life to people has faded and isn’t practical anymore. I can use my blog for my connecting with exclusive friends – Facebook will show my watered down, business friendly, family friendly personal face.

·         Twitter: I’ve debated going on under my own name but that wouldn’t really add anything to my life above and beyond Facebook. It is however useful for work and could be fun for personal interests – but I really want to keep these things separate. So for business news and work related interests I plan to use a company account (If the role of creating a company Twitter feed comes to me, if it doesn’t then I need to rethink and will probably use my name but following same rules for Facebook, nothing overly personal, keep in mind professional links will see me: in other words, I repeat: a watered down, business friendly version of me) Otherwise, set up account as Lilia Lovise for promoting blog and city a bit (as per blog) and personal interest stuff  (you know, following celebrities and all that)

·         Linkedin: Purely professional use. If the work Twitter comes to me I can link that to my linkedin account for anything I post (to raise my profile). Linkedin is about raising my professional profile after all.

·         Blog: As Lilia Lovise. To be split in two. One for private thoughts, introspective stuff that is a bit too dull and embarrassing to be public – or venting about things. Anything really where I’m trying to get my thoughts together on things. Keep anything hurtful or inflammatory in here. The other blog will serve as a nice diary to look back on in future – but stuff I would chat to friends and tell people about, things I’m happy to share. Mostly anonymous though, don’t want acquaintances or colleagues finding it and knowing more about me than I’d like them to know, or Sam’s school friends in future years etc, therefore aimed only at people who know me well and complete strangers. The whole purpose of both blogs though is to find my voice and own it.

·         My Space – needs to be fully deleted, pictures still popping up I don’t want out there. Damaging to my personal and professional reputation (which are quickly becoming one! Grrr) Anything that has my name and face attached to it needs to be respectable and not damaging for future job prospects.

Therefore, any information out there with my name and face attached to it needs to show me in a good light. And although my personal and professional faces are merging into one, I want to attempt to keep the two as separate as possible – I’ll fight against it a while longer. So no work stuff on Facebook and Twitter – keep work stuff and professional face (or “brand”) to Linkedin and company Twitterering.

Hmmn, it’s amusing that I’ve chosen to use a pseudonym for my personal stuff, and my true name has become my professional brand – how very boring and quite frankly wrong!! 

My Design for Life

Like most mums I often feel a bit overstretched (hehe, this sounds like the beginning of an advert! But I digress…) After a day spent either at work or caring for Taters, once his bath is out of the way and I’ve finally managed to convince him to go to sleep (which some nights can take up to an hour) there really isn’t much time for anything else.  Once tea is prepared and eaten and the house is tidied, chores are completed: there’s little time and energy left for anything other than a little slump in front of the TV, perhaps a bath and then bed.

I certainly don’t resent the time I have with Taters, not for one minute, I absolutely love it, and I adore the family time together when it’s the three of us (me, Taters and his Daddy), or when we go out with family or friends too – that’s just magic.

What bothers me is all the things I need to fit into that little pocket of free time, it just isn’t possible – cleaning the house, washing pots, washing clothes, putting clothes away, weeding the garden etc. And once those tedious things are out of the way there’s all the things I actually want to do – like have quality alone time with my husband, catching up with friends, yoga and exercise in general, writing, painting or something else arty, blogging, reading, researching the family tree… just putting my feet up with a cup of tea and a magazine. How can I fit all this in? How? Argh!! Therein lies to cause of my stress!

A little time management is called for here – I know the key to happiness to look at the things that make you the happiest and prioritise your life around these (yes, I read that in a blog). For me that is the following:

·         Quality Taters time – this already is the main priority: when I’m not at work, and when he’s not asleep, that is Taters time.

·         Quality family time – again, at weekends this already takes precedence.

·         Time alone with my husband - we have decided that weekend evenings are to be designated couple time (perhaps takeaway and a DVD), on top of that we're aiming at a monthly evening out together, and a separate monthly day out just the two of us.

·         Seeing friends – I’ve already improved tremendously on this, the odd evening when Taters is asleep here, the odd Saturday afternoon there…

·         Some creative pursuit or other. For this I am designating week day evenings. I’m going to have to make an effort, do what the Why Don’t You kids were telling me to do years ago – switch off the TV and do something less boring instead. I need a little self discipline on this one.

These are the things I want to spend my time on. House work might feel important, but it isn’t going to lead to fulfilment now is it?

So, my mission now is to minimise or obliterate things that eat up my precious free time and get in the way of doing these things:

1. Housework

I don’t want to live in squalor but I also need to cut down the time I spend on it. So how? Well, I have a few ideas.

The Domestic God-help-us Guide to Housework (and how to spend as little time on it as possible!):

·         I hereby give myself permission to live out of baskets – putting clothes away just takes too long, sod it, I’m going to be controversial here and when those clothes come off the washing line, I’ll fold them up (well, I might…) and put them in the basket – but then I’m not going to worry about putting them away. I don’t iron anyway so that’s not an issue.

·         Cooking – what’s wrong with frozen veg anyway? It’s already prepared, it hasn’t been decaying on a shelf or in a cupboard/fridge for days on end so maybe it’s even better for you (I don’t know the science). Either way it’s a time saver. I’m not the sort of woman who loves spending time in the kitchen, it isn’t going to happen – so quick but healthy gets a thumbs up from me. And since I’m rubbish at portion sizes anyway, put the extra in the freezer and eat it another day. Oh I know that isn’t rocket science but somehow I still haven’t managed it yet. Time to start!

·         I really, really need to learn to pick up after myself and tidy up as I go along. It will make life much easier in the long run.

·         Then on a Saturday morning, let Daddy take Taters out for an hour or two and run around like a loon hovering, dusting, cleaning the bath room – whatever, just getting the house in decent shape. An hour or two once a week, that’s not so bad is it? Perhaps once a month give it a full on blitz so we genuinely aren’t living in squalor. I think I can live with that.

·         Unfortunately there’s not much I can do about dirty pots since I haven’t the room or the money to afford a dishwater. Grrrrr! 

·         Gardening – woodchips would keep down the weeds – job’s a good ‘un!

I do need to realise that my house is never going to be immaculate, not unless I sacrifice something else, either time with my son or husband, or yoga or doing something creative or interesting. I’m not prepared to sacrifice these things for an immaculate house. So forget perfect, aim for good enough. Chuck in the occasional bonus chore say if I’m waiting for someone to come round and fix the boiler or whatever, but I think that could work just fine.

2. Work

or The Art of Making Work Work for You

I can use this time more efficiently – get in some exercise at lunch time with a walk around the block (thereby no need to stress about no longer having gym membership) – I can take the stairs to the office. I can utilise rainy lunchtimes or quiet work days to catch up with blog reading and writing. I can use the time stuck on the bus in traffic to read books. I can’t avoid work, but I can make better use of the time there.

3. Laziness (for want of a snappier term)

It is with great sadness I have come to realise that in order to achieve anything it’s time to ditch the long soaks in the bath (lovely as they are) Face it, I could put that time to better use – i.e. creative pursuits.

Also I need to stop getting sucked in by mindless, rubbish TV programmes – once you start watching, the old brain switches off and before you know it, it’s time for bed and you’ve done nothing productive with your evening whatsoever.

4. Put a few things on the backburner for now

Accept my time is limited and some things need to be let go of right now. Better that than be dragged down by the stress of not achieving them.

-          The aim of keeping the house immaculate and up to other people’s standards – forget it, it’s not going to happen

-          Meditation time – I think yoga is close enough for now.

-          Swimming / gym classes – no time for unless I want to sacrifice sleep. Instead work in aerobic exercise to the general day – brisk walks up the hill with the buggy, walk to work, walk at lunchtime...

And relax……….

And finally, a special note for relaxing. Because if I’m going to put in all this extra effort into leading the good life, then I really need to make sure I have some genuine, relaxing down time too. I figure I can squeeze in a yoga session every other evening when it's my husbands turn to put Taters to bed. That will help me relax as well as keeping me in shape. I also plan to use Taters naps for pure, guilt free chill out time – the perfect time to read a magazine and have a cup of tea. My weekend evenings with the hubby are also chance for us to relax and watch a film together… time to relax isn’t something I plan to sacrifice – that would just be stupid.

Also, the occasional long soak in the bath when it’s really needed is just fine – just bring out the candles and the bath bombs and make it something special…

There;s trouble brewing...

It’s been a little over three years since I decided that if I wanted children then me and the husband better get a move on and start trying. I was 32 and tired of the world of clubbing and drinking, I wanted something deeper, more meaningful. I wasn’t certain I was ready, I didn’t feel grown up enough, but I realised that if I wanted two children (and that was always the unacknowledged scenario floating around in the back of my head) then we really ought to make a start now.  My other half always wanted children someday so the way we saw it, why not make that someday now? We do tend to make our major life changing decisions that way, with a shrug and a sense of,  “Ah go on then, why not?”

We didn’t expect it to be so hard, although actually we’ve had a relatively easy ride compared to others. Okay I fainted my way through most of the pregnancy and could barely walk I got so big, and life didn’t respect my wishes to have a zen pregnancy, making myself a haven of peace and calm in which my baby could grow. Oh no, life threw all kinds of shit my way – bereavement, threat of redundancy, taking out risky loans, debt collectors, family arguments… then what seemed to be the angriest baby I’d ever seen was cut from my womb and thus began a whole new set of challenges! It has not been the easiest of times, but then I know plenty of people have it much harder so I really don’t feel I have the right to complain. We all have our different challenges. I know people who seem (to me) to have had an easier ride than us bemoan how much hard work it is, how they can’t even think about having another child. I also have other friends who have spent three years trying to conceive unsuccessfully who would do anything for our ‘troubles’. It’s all relative.

But what really, really puzzles me now is this… Why I am pining so much for another baby? When someone announces they are having a baby, rather than scream “Run!!!” at them I well up with tears of joy, I have the sudden urge to look after them and become their new best friend (creepy!), but most of all I feel jealous. This is truly baffling. Have I forgotten all the worrying? The feeling of my blood turning to acid in my veins when I thought I was having another miscarriage, I was almost afraid of sneezing in case I lost my precious baby. It was nine months of terror. Even now sometimes I get this irrational feeling that if I let Taters out of my sight he’ll disappear and I’ll wake up, realising it was all a dream and that he never existed. It makes my blood run cold.

So do I think I’d be any different if I were pregnant again? Do I think second time round I’ll be the laid back earth mother I wanted to be? That I’ll float through pregnancy glowing with good health, then give birth at home and successfully breastfeed, and well, just generally feel like I know what I’m doing (instead of watching other mothers with their children and feeling like a rank amateur in comparison) I’ve heard people say that the first baby is really hard, so would it be different second time round? Or am I crazy even considering it, am I just inviting disaster? Would my marriage survive the strain of another newborn or would my husband completely lose his sanity this time round?

I also don’t like to think of Taters as my test baby, the poor kid I practice (and get it wrong) with, so that I can be a wonderful mother with the second. What a horrible thought! Amazingly, he seems to be doing just fine, he’s coming out of his clinginess stage now and becoming a rather sociable little man. He’s loves going around to the neighbour’s yard to play with the older children and their rabbits, actually that was when I realised how much I wanted him to have a sibling, I really don’t want him growing up the only child.

But then there’s that nagging worry of my age. I’m 36 now, will it happen a second time round? Will there be problems? I know women have babies much older than me, but you never know personally when your time will be up. I don’t like to take it for granted that it will just happen. Although saying that my grandmother was 47 when my dad was born - so much for older mothers being a modern phenomena (take note Daily Mail!) Older women have always had babies, before contraception was rife they pretty much had them up until the change.

So many questions and no real way of knowing what the future holds. And faced with this kind of gamble all I can do is give myself the best odds possible – isn’t that true of life in general? And so from today I’m in training, healthy eating, healthy living… hopefully for now that will be enough to satiate the broodiness.

Home Sweet Home Again

The sun is shining, the garden is blossoming, my back is red and burning… British summer time is here! For now at least, it tends to come and go in little bursts of lovely sunshine punctuated with longer spells of gray and drizzly skies. It’s a great reminder to seize the moment and live it up while you can, for tomorrow it may be raining.

I’m forever working at something, sorting the garden out, fixing things in the house – working towards the fabled day when everything is finished and I can just enjoy the house, or sit out in the lovely (completed) garden and enjoy the weather. I find myself enviably watching my neighbours enjoying a glass of wine in the sun while I’m up my ladder painting the dining room – and I wonder if I’ve got it all wrong! Obviously I have, you can’t wait until you’ve finished all your jobs, or got things ‘just so’ to then start living. You have to do it anyway, amidst the chaos and imperfections.

And actually I’ve not done too bad in making the most of this current heat wave, we’ve just returned from a week at Centre Parcs which Taters enjoyed immensely. I like Centre Parcs, although I can’t say I love it – it doesn’t thrill or inspire me the way other places do. Yes it’s living in a forest which is right up my street, but it’s just that little bit too conventional for me, too sanitised, too mainstream. But for a mother with a nervous disposition such as myself, it feels safe and convenient, and right now that is fine with me. Hopefully when I get a little braver we’ll swap the nice-enough chalets for yurts or something a little more ‘us’.

But right now it suits us just fine, and it was relaxing to be able to get up and have so many things around us with which to fill our day, all on our doorstep and without having to slog up great big hills and negotiate public transport to get there. We went swimming every day, had a lovely cheesy family portrait taken, ate out every day… but more than anything Taters just adored wandering around the woods shouting at ducks and chasing rabbits, picking up pine cones and sticks, exploring the forest and discovering it’s inhabitants. Honestly there was so much wildlife outside our patio door it was like living in a Disney film. And it really surprised me just how quiet the forest was, even when filled with so many people, it was truly lovely hearing the owls in the dead of night.

Back home I miss the peace and quiet, at first the busy roads and tightly packed terraced houses of home made me feel hemmed in and claustrophobic. But I’ve acclimatised again now, it never takes long does it?  And now we’re back among all the jobs that need doing, the clutter that needs sorting, and once again it’s easy to find excuses NOT to get out and enjoy the day. Yes, I really do have it all wrong! It just goes to show, you acquire all these things you think you need to be happy – but then you go away, taking only the essentials, and somehow you’re happier there. Hmmn, makes you think doesn’t it?

Please skip over if you stumble upon this, more self obsessed ramblings to follow...

I’ve just been re-reading the last few posts, and before I step away from all this introspection (hopefully), I just wanted to summarise my own little “eureka” discoveries. I do feel like I’m now starting a new chapter of my life, and that I’m making some really positive changes. So for the sake of clarity I thought a little summary would help me on my new journey, to keep me on the right path as it were.

So, what my psycho babble from this past few weeks amounts to is this:

1.       I am shy and unhappy about the way it is limiting my life

2.       I perpetuate this shyness by hiding behind a fantasy me in a fantasy world. It is time to leave this world behind and live in reality.

3.       I have neglected and disrespected the real me for far too long and never allowed her to grow. Now is the time to become her best friend, love her and let her evolve – stand up for her, believe in her, nurture her etc. etc. Be kind!

4.       I need to get to know myself better, accept myself, understand myself, know my own mind, define my boundaries. And then learn to work with what I’ve got, learn what works for me.

5.       It is time to forget trying to win everyone else’s approval and instead aim to earn my own respect- with the old fantasy me as my mentor, she is my higher self and something to aspire to, aim for. She is who I answer to at the end of the day.

Linking back though to a previous post, the reason the memories of my student days blaze more brightly than recent years is because I was living in the real world back then. So now I’ve been dragged back into it by my little boy, here’s to creating some equally vibrant memories now!

Arm chair psychotherapy

After writing that last post I realised one important thing. I wrote that despite my shyness, I always believed the person lurking beneath it was something pretty darn special - but you know at the same time I always carried with me an unhealthy dose of self hatred. So how could I have these two opposite feelings about myself at the same time. And who was this brilliant girl/woman I valued so highly? I realise now that she was the fantasy me, the ideal me, in my alternative life in my own little world, that's where she existed. She wasn't who I was deep down inside, she was who I wanted to be, she conducted herself how I wished I conducted myself, was smarter,  wittier, more talented, stronger than me. Give me a few drinks on a night out and sometimes I could convince myself that I was her. But really she isn’t me, and that is where the self hatred comes in.

So who is this real me and why do I dislike her so much? We can all pull ourselves apart and identify countless flaws, large and small, real and imagined and this is where I get my head in a tangle. And I suppose ultimately, when it comes down to it, my main crime is not measuring up to who I think I should be, and who the world expects me to be. I see myself as a timid little mouse, a wallflower, but we’re all meant to be strong, independent women these days aren’t we?

Over the years I’ve been rather mean to the real me haven’t I? Gagged by shyness, reviled for not being perfect, ignored in favour of the fantasy me, at school I sided with the bullies against myself, and even now I’m happy to tell people how useless I am at something or point out my flaws to them. No, I haven’t been much of a friend to myself at all and I need to start being one now. It’s time for acceptance and nurture. I wouldn’t dream of treating a friend the way I treat myself.

So the plan: if I want to improve my self worth well I need to appreciate and work with what I have, rather than berate myself for what I’m not. I need to know myself and know what works for me, rather than trying to copy what works for someone else and punishing myself when I can’t pull it off. Secondly I need to accept I won’t win everyone over and stop crippling myself trying, let’s remove that pressure for starters. The idea now is to stop chasing everyone else’s approval and try to earn my own respect.

And this is where the fantasy me could come in useful – as my higher self, my ideal self; who better to be my guide, my gauge? When I don’t know how to act, I need to ask myself what would she do, what would make her proud; when I’m setting myself boundaries, I need to ask what she believes is acceptable. This is who I want to be answerable to at the end of the day, myself. And this time around we’re going to be firm friends. 

Ok, this is going to sound big headed, but stay with me… Despite being shy I always believed that on the inside I was a great person, well worth knowing, maybe even a little bit special. And if someone didn’t have the patience or inclination to get to know me, I was fine with that because it was their loss. That little ruse kept my self belief in tact for many a year. It didn’t matter what people thought of me because they didn’t really know me.

Truth be told, I was terrified of opening up and letting people know me in case they rejected me, in case it turned out I wasn’t really "all that". And on the other hand I wasn’t any good at letting people know me – I lacked the conversational skills to express myself; I clammed up when talking to more than one person at a time; words got stuck in my head before ever making it out because I worried about how they would be received; then failed attempts at making comments or conversation got magnified and used as instruments of torture against me (by me – I doubt anyone else noticed).

This shyness as self preservation wasn’t ever meant to be permanent. I never thought I would hide myself away for ever. I was meant to blossom eventually, come out of myself and the world would see how amazing I was. Because hiding away from the world is quite simply unfulfilling. There’s a world out there but you’re too timid to make the most of it, you live a limited existence, only ever dreaming about the things you really want. That’s no way to live.

And as I’m getting older, it’s harder and harder to hang onto that feeling of self worth. I don’t blame other people anymore for not having the patience or kindness to reach out and get to know me, why should they? I blame myself now for being hard work, difficult, awkward. I also no longer believe there is this fantastic person inside just waiting to be discovered, I actually feel like such a disappointment, I was so full of promise and yet now I find I’m not so special after all. My biggest fear now is that I am now incapable of changing, of blossoming and I am destined to fade into oblivion, dissatisfied, bitter…

I will not allow that to be my fate.

There it is; the purpose of this post. It isn’t to wallow in self pity; it’s to give myself a kick up the backside because this is making me depressed.

So, my initial thoughts:

·         I need to seriously improve my self worth. I need to like myself again. I need to know what I expect of myself and live up to my expectations. Being lazy, not being true to my beliefs, letting myself to do things I know inside are wrong, allowing myself to become sloppy (leaving the house messy, my clothes creased and covered in cat hairs, my hair unkempt…) All these things chip away at my self respect and make me feel like I’m letting myself down. It doesn’t matter what others think of me, I have to be able to answer to myself and none of these things make me proud of myself. I need to decide who I want to be, and do the things I need to do to be that person. I also need to look after my basic needs and treat myself with care and respect.

·         I need to quit being so excruciatingly self conscious – not everything that comes out of my mouth needs to be perfect. I think too hard about what I say, but people aren’t listening anywhere near as hard as I am to my own voice. So relax, wrongs can be rectified, laughed off or apologised for – the consequences will be nowhere near as cataclysmic as I seem to believe. So dare to speak!

·         I need to be braver and push my boundaries, talk more, get out more. If I get knocked down, I need to brush myself off, get back up and do it again. I need to be bold and try new things, or aim for things a little bit higher than my reach. Keep moving forward.

All this amounts to: Love myself – be myself – grow.

And now it’s time to get to work!

Untangling my head

For the past few days I have been a total and utter Grumpa Loompa (bit like an Oompa Loompa but mardier!) It’s very disappointing, shouldn’t I be posting loads of wonderful Easter photos? Where’s my pictures of little children painting brightly colour eggs around my kitchen table? (I don’t have a kitchen table) Of the Easter egg hunt in the garden? (My garden is the least child friendly garden ever – perilously steep steps, six foot drop… not good) Where are the lambs and the fluffy yellow chicks? How did I end up bank holiday Monday sitting in a car on an industrial estate eating a MacDonalds while the rain pounded at the window? Am I just a rubbish mum?

I’ve managed to get out socially a few times over the last few weeks so I ought to be on a high. I’ve had the opportunity to catch up with friends, I even went to a burlesque night one Saturday night, then a cabaret night the next weekend… Isn’t that what I was crying out for? I’ve had some fantastic “me” time, but with it came the guilt that I was “gallivanting” about. Was it too much, two Saturday nights in a row and then an afternoon too? Am I being selfish, thinking I can just carry on having a life like I don’t have a child, palming my kid off on others to pick up my slack. It doesn’t help that the babysitters (my in-laws) on one hand offer to babysit while simultaneously disapproving of us going out (they never went out after having children apparently). Guilt, guilt, guilt. Yet again – bad mum! Am I not dedicated enough? Am I not sacrificing enough? Am I cut out for this?? I don’t have any further social plans for the foreseeable future, this little flurry was an abnormal blip, but still the guilt pursues me.

The other downside of catching up with old friends is that people inevitably ask how you are, and you are given a rare opportunity to discuss what has been happening in your life, to open up about issues that you don’t usually get the chance to even think about. This isn’t a good thing when you’ve been sweeping things under the carpet, and I swept a whole lot under there when I was pregnant, ongoing things I’m helpless to do anything about now so more often than not I bury my head in the sand. Having a nice chat dredged up a lot of unpleasantness and it’s only now, a few days later that the dust is settling again (back under the carpet – not healthy I know, but I’m powerless to do anything or believe me I would)

So all this has set me about and led to some pretty dark days. Do you ever have days where you feel like you’re getting everything wrong? Oh so wrong! That in general you’re just sort of wrong. That’s been my lot this week. I had a meeting with the new director at work, my opportunity to make a good impression and prove I’m an employee worthy of keeping (cuts are looming) Everything came out wrong; I stumbled over my words, in my nervousness I blurted things out I wish I hadn’t, I just didn’t come across at all the way I wanted to, nowhere near. I’m also struggling with panic attacks over my driving lessons – which is ridiculous considering they’re actually going well, but beforehand I’m a wreck and I find myself spending the latter half of the week fighting a growing sense of dread (lessons are on Saturday). I think that too is depleting my energy.

Sometimes I feel like I haven’t got what it takes to be happy, haven’t got the strength or confidence or energy to get the most out of life and I wonder if I ever will have. I just feel small, diminished, awkward... I know life is what you make it and all these wonderful experiences are there for the taking – and I know the biggest obstacles for me are the ones I carry with me; my own lack of self worth, my shyness. But I just can’t seem to get it right, I always seem to fall into the same ruts, I let myself down over and over. But now it means even more because I have my son to think of too and I don’t want to pass my demons onto him.

Thankfully the black cloud seems to have lifted this morning and things don’t feel so bleak. I’m currently in the process of dusting myself off and picking myself back up. A friend once told me a fantastic analogy; Life is like a toilet – you’re constantly getting crapped on. What you have to do is keep flushing the chain and starting again with a clean bowl. And that is what I’m doing today.

Oh and the MacDonalds thing in the car? Well, we were trying to go somewhere interesting, but the rain spoiled our plans. Taters was napping, we needed to eat. MacDonalds was just there… It happens…

Tackling shyness

I’m 35 and I’m shy. There it is, I’ve said it. I try hard not to let people see it; I consider it my weakness, my embarrassing little secret that is probably rather obvious. When I meet new people I always set out to be brave and confident, but somehow every time my self-assurance dries up and I always end up falling by the wayside, finding myself on the outside again and become the quiet little wall flower in the corner who wouldn’t say boo to a goose, barely noticeable, slowly becoming invisible. Boring.

For me, one of the main downside of shyness is that it traps me in my own little world. Venturing out alone is daunting to say the least. If I’m with my husband I hide behind him, ditto with friends, I hate that fact, I don’t want to be a burden on anyone, I don’t want to be the person you get stuck with at a party or event. I want to be independent, strong; I could achieve anything with those attributes. But I’m afraid of the world, nervous of anything new, meeting new people is uncomfortable at best, excruciating at worst. I may come across as aloof and standoffish, or alternately overly chatty and desperate depending on the day.

Yes I’m socially backwards. And this limits my life considerably.

I don’t actually want to be a loner, I daydream (too) often, and all my daydreams are full of people. But I’m far too old for imaginary friends! It’s just that I find real people exhausting, draining, complicated. Social situations wear me out; I can’t think what to say, sometimes I stumble over my words, in my attempts to say the absolute right thing, I sometimes come out with the absolute wrong thing. I even outright lie in order to have something to contribute. I find “just being myself” near impossible. I’m painfully self conscious but I can’t seem to switch off that inner voice that scrutinises everything I say and do, then makes me re-live my mistakes over and over.

Faced with this I run away and hide in daydreams, in fact most of my life I’ve practically lived two simultaneous lives – one with a linear narrative, and the other where history is regularly re-written to incorporate some new passion or other, where bad days are softened, broken hearts are patched up. It’s my buffer from reality.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with daydreaming, it’s a wonderful tool for brightening up a bus journey to work, it’s fertile breeding ground for creative projects, day dreaming can be a wonderful thing, I’m a huge fan! But not when you hide in your daydreams rather than deal with the real world. Not when it allows you to cope with the status quo when you should be tackling it. In other words not when it gets in the way of leading a fulfilling real life. I have remained shy at the grand old age of 35 because it was easier to hide in a fantasy rather than try to make something of myself in the real world. Daydreams are all well and good, but you can’t put them on your CV, or update your Facebook status with them, they count for nothing in the real world. You risk looking back at what you did in the last few years and finding a gaping hole in your life.

In fact I’m finding the more I do it, the less alive I feel, the less my brain seems to function, the less I seem to feel. I’m becoming vague. It has begun to scare me that I will never have anything like the things I dream about – because it’s here in the real world you make these things happen. It’s not enough that it happens in my head, it needs to be real.

This is one of the many issues having a child has made me face. I don’t want his world limited by my shyness. It’s bad enough mine is. When it’s just me and him I feel guilty if we have a day in the house – I should be taking him places, doing things with him, there’s a whole world out there! But it’s hard to get myself together and go outside, we usually just venture to nearby places that are within my tiny little comfort zone. It took such a long time to pluck up the guts to take him to play group, as it does each week to go back. And when I’m there I still feel like the outsider, all the other mums seem to know one another, know each others kids. I smile and chat to whoever I meet, but I always seem to end up outside of conversations, wandering around with my little boy on our own. It makes me breathless with worry for him. I don’t want him to exist on the fringes of the world like I do.

This has to change. For me and for him. I want the freedom confidence and independence gives you. I want to lead a fulfilling REAL life; I want the same for him. I want to be a good role model.

I’m already taking steps; I’m pushing at the boundaries of my comfort zone continuously. Learning to drive is the scariest (I was less scared when my waters broke!); starting this blog is helping me find my voice and wake up to myself; I’m working hard on my conversational skills – learning the art of asking questions about people and remembering the answers thereby giving you something to talk about the next time (seems so bloody obvious! I can’t believe I used to think the best way to get to know someone was to tell them absolutely everything about myself in excruciating detail in the hope they’d find something to connect with…I just came across as self obsessed not self effacing). Also because I want to be seen in the real world I’ve been thinking about how I’m putting myself across – making more of an effort with my clothes, dressing to be seen and make the right impression rather than my usual non descript self that politely requests people don’t look too closely at me or they might discover my creased clothes are covered in cat hairs – sloppy and lazy, me? (I read a fascinating little piece here that really made me think). Hell I’ve even changed my hairstyle this week for the first time in years.

I’m ringing in the changes. I just need to keep the momentum going. I don’t want my shyness standing in the way of the life I want.

Which is? How do I define a perfect life? The kind I hope to look back on with a contented smile? Well, it’s full of friends and laughter, interesting people doing interesting things; it’s full of children and animals, my wonderful husband, creative projects and a fair amount of red wine. There’s a real fire somewhere in their too and a modest sized home with a lovely garden…. And I’m charming and warm and quirky and yeh, yeh you know how it goes!

I am NOT sitting in the corner of my own life so quietly no one even remembered I was there.

Please be kind to learner drivers, please...

I’ve only gone and done it; booked my first ever driving lesson at the grand old age of 35 that is. I’m terrified and I haven’t even stepped inside the car yet.

I never felt the need to drive before having Taters, I could get around just fine on public transport and let’s face it, there are too many cars on the road already. I quite liked slinging a back pack over my shoulder and travelling wherever I pleased by train, sitting back listening to my ipod, flicking leisurely through a magazine while enjoying a cup of tea, maybe a bar of chocolate… ah bliss! But slinging a mountain of “baby essentials” into a changing bag, then lugging my things, his things, him and the buggy to the station in time to catch the train, carefully timing it to fit in with his routine so he isn’t overtired and grumpy, then trying to entertain said child on the train so as not to annoy other passengers… Well you get the picture, that’s not so relaxing.

I accept that you lose certain freedoms in having a child, and I’m fine with that. But I’m hoping that by learning to drive we’ll regain some we’ve never had before. And there’s just so much I want to show my little boy, so many things we can do – right now we’re limited to wherever we can get to by buggy and foot and if we want to go further we need to enlist the grandparents who drive. But I don’t want to be a burden any longer… The time is right to drive.

That doesn’t mean I’m not terrified though. I’m scared of other drivers bearing down on me while I crawl along the road terrified to go over 20mph, I’m scared of other drivers shaking their fists at me when I make some inevitable error or other, I’m pretty much scared of other drivers full stop (they seem like such an impatient and unforgiving bunch). And learning something in public, on full display, in front of others who already know how to do it – it sends shudders down my spine.

This was one of my New Year resolutions and it may have taken me until March to pluck up the courage to do it, but do it I will. We all know it's good to do something outside of your comfort zone once in a while, it gives you a new zest for life... 

From Maiden to Mother

I have this old brown battered case that has followed me from house to house. Often I’ve considered burning it, just burning the lot without even opening it for one last look at the contents, a symbolic letting go of the past and the painful memories locked away in that case.

I’ve been sorting out Tater’s room and making space for his ever growing collection of toys. And in doing this that brown case has resurfaced again, as it does every once in a while, dredging up with it old memories and feelings. Almost casually I decided to take a peek inside yesterday morning and while my other half dressed Taters I amused myself reading snippets of my teenage diaries. Predictably they made me cringe with embarrassment – it was all exactly as you’d expect, the insane crushes on pop stars and older boys, the jealousy and back stabbing amongst the girls in school (I was such a teenage cliché!) I tried to avoid reading my accounts of the bullying I suffered, but I can’t say I need re-read all that anyway, I still carry a lot of it around with me. I wish I didn’t, but there you go. There’s lots of other memorabilia in there besides the diaries, not all bad – there are letters from friends, magazine cuttings of my teenage crushes (they’re always fun to revisit), a sympathy card from my best friend when River Phoenix died. There’s later stuff too from my early days at University, much happier times – valentines cards from the man I went on to marry, a tape of songs he made for me.

Basically that battered brown case is a memory box filled with memorabilia from the most intense periods of my life and whenever I open it, the concentrated emotions that fester within can be overwhelming. That’s why I often think it would be healthier to just burn the thing (perhaps removing the nice things in there first). At the moment it sits hidden away half buried in corners of the house, almost polluting the atmosphere around it.

Anyway after my little meander down memory lane I sat on the bus to work listening to some old albums I’d recently uploaded to my ipod. It wasn’t a conscious decision to revisit my university years but as I listened it was almost like travelling back in time – I could clearly recall dancing in rock clubs to those songs, the thrill of the loud music, the dark room and the smoke machine veiling me, the alcohol and the dancing, the fantastic new friends and sense of belonging at last, I relived the first rushes of love and excitement as me and my now husband started seeing one another. I remembered the newness of life; the turbulent times now behind me, free for the first time, happy for the first time in a long time, the future full of hope and possibility. It was a truly magnificent time.

By the time I found myself listening to those same songs on the way back from work the effect was now somewhat draining. In fact when I arrived home I felt rather depressed, wondering why the memories of both those eras (teenage years and uni) burn so much more brightly than the more recent past? How can it be I remember something more vividly from ten years ago than from three?

I think the true source of yesterday’s malaise was the feeling that I’m losing myself, that girl burning with passion for life back then, packed full of potential and dreams for the future, that she’s fading and all that potential is wasted. In my darkest moods I feel like I didn’t blossom into the woman I hoped to back then and now I’m wilting. It’s partly because the old me is currently submerged in motherhood, struggling to find an outlet to just be “me”. It’s also a lot to do with getting older.

I am very much shaped by that era of my life, scarred by the memories of school I want to forget, moulded further by the memories of university that I try to hold on to; clinging to the same people, trying to do the same things, I still have the same hair, I don’t dress all that differently, it’s like I’m still trying to be the same girl. I supposed I’m scared to change the formula that worked for me. Yet I’m still viewing the world through the eyes of a 20 year old, which makes looking at my thirty something self in the mirror harder and harder. It doesn’t work for me anymore. Of course I’ve failed or “sold out” if I’m judging myself by the unrealistic, idealistic standards of a teenager. Yet here I am getting all depressed because I am viewing myself from that very perspective.

So is it time to burn that brown case and properly grow up? Let go of the pain of school years and the glory days of university. After all these are the new glory days and I hope in years to come they burn even more brightly than the last. But I do think I need to redefine myself as a grown woman. I’m not the maiden now, I’m the mother. Yes this is a new golden era, and there needs to be a new me to go with it. I don’t want to look like a faded version of my old self, I don’t want to be a faded version of my old self. I want a new self. I’ve resisted change for far too long.

The time has come to pull my socks up!

I’ve broken the rules and I don’t care. For the last few nights Taters has slept with us. Yes slept. We have all slept. I’m a new woman and long may it continue. Naysayers will tell me that I won’t get him out of our bed until he’s five now I’ve given in, but that’s fine – just so long as I’m getting some sleep. And yes I know it’s another one of my parenting “things I’ll never do” plans out of the window, but sometimes you just have to do whatever it takes to survive.

And so back in the land of the living I’m trying to rebuild bridges and make amends. It’s proving to be a frustrating task. I don’t remember friendships being this complicated before? Everyone is now so busy I have to schedule meetings with them sometimes months ahead of time. And sometimes it’s more like having keep-in-touch meetings with colleagues rather than spending time with friends. It only brings it home to me how separate our lives are becoming as we chat about things we’ve done with other people. Our lives used to be intertwined, we were almost inseparable, I have albums full of photos of the times we’ve had together.

And for some people, sadly, I just don’t think my life is all that interesting to them anymore, babies just aren’t their thing!

All in all it’s a sad state of affairs and I’m feeling a bit lonely. I miss the deep connection I used to share with these people, I used to feel like I could take on the world after a conversation with them but it’s becoming obvious we’re all drifting apart. I don’t make friends easily either and so this is leaving a gaping hole in my life.

Work, ouch, work – that’s another tricky area. While I was on maternity leave many of my colleagues were made redundant. I came back to a very different work environment to the one I left, my once passionate and enthusiastic workmates rather battered down. I was surprised to find myself back at all. And now round two of changes have begun. Further cost reductions need to be made, functions have been merged and what the future holds, well no one as yet knows. This is the time to really prove yourself, to demonstrate what a hard worker and asset to the team you are. It is certainly not the time to be wandering round like a zombie with a migraine, struggling to keep your eyes open in meetings and contributing nothing to the team whatsoever. So maybe it’s too late for me, I do suspect it is. And to lose my job now would be terrifying – what are my chances of finding another part time role that will pay the mortgage? Part of me thinks it’s time to go anyway, this is such a depressing, soul crushing environment to work in. A new challenge would do me the world of good and I know that. But I’d rather that challenge be a new and exciting job, in this climate however the challenge is more likely to be finding a job when there are so few around.

Well, that was a cheery post wasn’t it? The future is looking rather daunting. But you know, so long as I’ve had some sleep, at least I can put up a fight!

A long, long night

It’s uncanny; every night as I’m drifting off to sleep the sound of stirring in the room downstairs breaks the silence on the baby monitor. How does he know? Does he sense my brain waves changing? Is this the maternal bond they speak of and if so, why is he using it to torture me?

The shuffling builds to a few soft cries. My heart leaps to attention, my stomach flips and my spirits crash. Again? Really? I hold my breath, will he find the dummy in time and go back to sleep? Please, please, please, I’m so tired from doing this last night, I don’t think I can do this again! A loud cry bellows out, followed by another and another…

I throw back the quilt and swing my legs out of bed, I feel like stomping down the stairs but no, softly, softly I go, quietly into his room with a gentle “Ssshhh” to reassure him mummy is here. Back up dummy is located and quickly shoved in his gob. The arms go up. Still “sshh-ing” but not speaking I stroke his arm and try to encourage him to go back to sleep in his cot, like all the good books say. Gritting the dummy between his teeth his cries become more insistent, arms up reaching out again demanding to be cuddled.

With a sigh I scoop him up and we settle into the rocking chair. Oh I know I shouldn’t pick him up, but I’ve tried resisting and as a result spent hours with a baby screaming blue murder at me, night after night we’ve done that. Then one night I picked him up and he fell soundly asleep in my arms, so soundly just minutes later I was creeping out of the room and back in my own bed. Bliss!

Yes he soon got wise to that one. Now he dozes in my arms with one eye open, I stroke his cheek and his little eyes close in blissful relaxation. Until I stop and they spring right back open, or I continue too long and he gets bored and yes, they spring right back open.

I try every technique with a history of success. I stroke his arm, I stroke his hair, I shush, I stay silent and do nothing, I rock, I sit still, I sing, I hum. I put him back in his cot and do it all over again. I know, I know, I need to be consistent, that’s what the good books say!

Sometimes he torments me and lays silent and still for long enough to build my hopes up. In my head I am making my retreat back up the stairs, I might even allow myself to doze a little so that when I get back to bed in oh, 15 minutes or so? I can fall asleep more easily.

He knows what I’m thinking. It’s that maternal bond again. But he’s evil, and so he waits until I make it to the door and then, bam! He flips onto his back and commences to cry.

I look at the clock, it’s 11:30pm. Worst case scenario I’ll be back in bed by 3:30am, he never lasts more than four hours. Then I’ll be up at 7:00am, well if I’m lucky and he doesn’t wake up at 6am. Can I get through a day at work on that little sleep? I keep having to!

We’re back in the chair only now he’s sitting up and bouncing in my lap like a little chimp, throwing me irresistibly cute smiles and teasing me by resting his head on my shoulder for brief moments before flashing me a cheeky, knowing grin as he sits back up. Yes, he’s evil.

He points to his cot, hoping I’m understanding his cues correctly I put him back in and gently stroke his back, shushing again. He sits up, then stands up. I quietly say “sit down”, he obeys. I quietly say “lay down”, he bends over and attempts a head stand – he doesn’t quite have that down yet. Then he springs back up, grinning. The arms go up again. I lay him back down. He’s up again. I lay him back down. He starts to cry. I relent and we’re back in the rocking chair. I know, I know, I’m too soft on him!

As he alternates between playful chimp and quietly relaxing in my arms seemingly on the verge of sleep for hours, I alternate between calm and understanding mother, and frustrated and sleep deprived nutter. Unfortunately for me husband cannot help in case you’re wondering where he is, Tater’s gets hysterical rather quickly if mummy does not come to him in the night. He steps in to give me time out if I really feel my temper boiling over, but this usually only extends the waking period even further. So mostly I sit in my rocking chair in that quiet, dark room by myself. After mentally rearranging his nursery and imagining scenes in which someone I admire is observing me and commenting on what a wonderfully patient and caring mother I am, I start to lose my marbles. Last night I tried to think it through rationally, determined to get to the bottom of it. What I needed was a plan! If I have a plan then I can be consistent in sticking to it, it will at least make me feel that I have a modicum of control. Husband will be on board and we can work together. Yes, a plan will sort us out.

I hastily hatched my plan. It went like this: Tater’s is most likely awake simply because he wants to be up. So I have to make being up so boring he will prefer to go back to sleep. I read that in one of the books. Yes, I already do it partly in that he is only allowed to either sit on my knee or be in the cot during these mammoth wake-a-thons, but I’m still entertaining him with the singing and the sodding Winnie-the-Pooh light show and music box – “I think I will sing a sleepy song..” Grrr!. So other than being there I will do nothing. Yes I will cuddle him at first, but in a few days I will step back further and not even get him out of the cot. I will be firm but understanding. He won’t like it because he won’t be getting his own way, but soon he will learn that there’s nothing to be awake for and we will all be happier as a result.

I decided to begin right away. It didn’t take long for him to get pissed off with the new regime. Soon he was sat in my lap screaming his head off and trying to shove my arms away from him. I felt like the biggest meanie in the world. Ever. But I had to be strong. This is for his own good too, he’s such a happier child when he’s had proper sleep. Okay so he didn’t want to be on my knee so I put him in his cot, he stood up and screamed. I remained resolutely boring. No talking, no singing, no Pooh Bear light show on the ceiling. Nothing to stay awake for here Mister.

I started to crumble, am I damaging him doing this? Isn’t this just cry-it-out with me in the room? Have I given this enough thought? My now worried husband keeps coming into the room to check everything is okay. Is he sick? Should we give him Calpol? Call an ambulance? My god that kid can paddy! He sounds like a scalded dog!

Finally I scoop him up in my arms and head up to our bedroom, defeated, weak, exhausted. FAIL! It’s not that it even helps half the time, after he’s finished bouncing around on the bed, elbowing and kicking us both in the ribs, head, neck, groin, eventually we all pass out and when I awake a few measly hours later it is with painfully stiff limbs and a cold arse hanging off the edge of the bed. Very ladylike! Dr Sears makes co-sleeping sound so charming too.

And so there we have it, a night in our house. I don’t know what on earth to do. I don’t feel strong enough to sit out the gentler version of crying it out on my own. And we’ve had months of doing something similar and it hasn’t worked at all. So I don’t know, I need another plan!

8 hours straight would be lovely, please?

My how time flies when you’re living existing in a fog of sleep deprivation! Writing a blog does fall by the wayside when it takes everything you have just to get through the day. I’m turning out to be a useless blogger! (not to mention an unproductive member of the workforce, a useless friend who doesn’t even know what is happening in her friends lives, a lazy, snappy wife who looks terrible all the time…) And this has been dragging on for so long I’m scared that by the time this phase is finally over I’ll “wake up” and find myself to be a stranger in my own life, an unemployed one at that. Maybe I’m being overly dramatic but it feels like life is passing me by while I wander round in my sleepless daze, neglected friends are drifting away from me, I feel isolated and frustrated at my inability to achieve anything, almost as though I’m fading away.

We’ve had periods of sleeping through, or near sleeping through at least, but we’ve also had prolonged periods of waking up every hour throughout the night, refusing to go to sleep, refusing to go back to sleep. This current phase has been going on since he turned one. That was four months ago. I just don’t know what’s going on, I don’t understand why – what causes him to wake up in the night and then proceed to stay awake for anything up to four hours – demanding my attention for the entire period? Is he too warm? Too cold? Hungry? Thirsty? I just don’t know! Why won’t he go back to sleep? I don’t want to do the old “cry it out” but one thing is for certain, we can’t keep going on like this.