I’ve been feeling a tad teary this weekend.
Black Friday madness? Christmas looming? Or more likely that hubby has had a stable few days and I’ve come off the gas a little.
Urgh. How irritating to feel like his when things are good.
Cue: guilt trip
I’ve had a headache for 2 days which feels like an elephant sat on my head, and I’ve just wanted to cry at any opportunity. Waterstones got me yeaterday with Maggie Smith’s autobiography back cover (there’s nothing that weepy about it, but it got me.)
Anyway, onwards and upwards. That’s me.
So last night I checked into Hotel Mum and Dad for a good sleep and then like a teenager let my mum drive me to her Leisure club, pay for me and collect me later.
Whilst hubby is feeling good, this is an opportunity for me to look out for me. I believe they call it ‘self care’. And it’s bloody marvellous.
This morning I also had a chat with a nice lady from IAPT who’s assessed me and my tears and is sending me some info on Triple P parenting courses, a relaxation CD and arranging for me to have a natter with a counsellor.
I’ve said it before, but being a mummy and loving someone with a mental illness is exhausting. I just plough on through usually, but then it catches up with me in cataclismic form. Shit.
It’s just me to look after me. So for now, the sounds of a jacuzzi, a trash mag and a power shower are my sanctuary.
See you on the other side.