A Sunday Morning

Once upon a time Sundays were our "proper family day". Like any other "proper" family we would plan that one day of the week when my ex-husband wasn't working and would do something.
The last two years Sundays have become a day that is just like any other. Except it comes with pressure. Every other weekend I have the day to myself and will generally find an excuse to go shopping, or laze around the house, not being at all practical.
The other Sundays are spent fighting the urge of a comfortable, non-anxious day at home...except it's with two little boys and staying in isn't really the best option when they are likely to get bored, need to blow off some steam and are likely to mess my house up even more.

Over time I have become jealous of people who have these perfect, "proper" families, or even those in a "blended" family who are all able to enjoy this family day together. 

Yesterday however my best friend asked if we wanted to go and see her horse. Despite being friends for a year now I haven't yet met him and thought it would be a fun, different thing to do. Plus the reaction from the boys when I mentioned it to them was an indication that we would have a good time. 
Also it was my excuse to spend time with Amy's two year old daughter who I absolutely adore. Not only is she the most beautiful little girl, she has an amazing personality and always has me laughing, without really trying. 

The weather wasn't too bad and after putting on our wellies we followed Amy to the field.

I'm not really into horses and am a bit of a wimp when it comes to stroking them usually but there's something different when you are with someone you trust and when it is their horse. As soon as he came over to the gate I was amazed at how handsome he is, and I think in all fairness I never really appreciated the size of a horse. 
After everyone else easily and gracefully climbed over the gate I made a pretty good job of drawing attention to myself and creating a fuss. I got over however and managed to not fall...however had a bum that was now green with the moss from the wooden gate. 

The time we were there was so lovely. I actually felt super relaxed and like I could have easily spent hours and hours there. 
I took my "big camera" along and snapped away the whole time we were there, every now and then letting out little squeals of excitement because I liked the photos I was taking and because my passion for photography was coming back. Those days when I would go for a day out and come back with 300 photos of our memories from that day.
I had moments where I just wanted to soak in the freedom the children had and the fact that I felt relaxed, and happy to be spending this little bit of quality time with my favourite people. 

Time to say goodbye, and struggling to get Charles away from the horse he had fallen in love with, we headed to the supermarket and normal life resumed. But I couldn't wait to get home and go through those photos (over 100 in around an hour and a half) and relive it so soon after. 

And rather than focussing on what I no longer have, I felt grateful for having these two special people in our lives and realised that a "proper family" isn't essential to our happiness. 
Getting out, letting go, and being ourselves however is essential. Especially with people we love.



This Life

I've wondered a lot recently if the life I'm living is the life I am supposed to be living.
If I went off course at some point, if I did something wrong, or if this is who I am supposed to be, living the life I am supposed to live.

If depression and mental health was part of my plan, or if I did something that made me deserve to have that challenge. If in my childhood up until my teenage years when it first hit, if I did something that meant I had to suffer and fight.

Do I live where I am supposed to live? Am I doing the job I am supposed to be doing? Do I look the way I am supposed to look?
And are the people in my life supposed to be in my life?

I wonder, often, if there is anything I can do to change my path. If any of it is actually a choice or if we are really supposed to take each day as it comes. Or if we make choices we don't realise we make.
If, at some point, life was supposed to be different or if we got lost and made it all routine.

Or is it too late?

At 33, with two children, have I left it too late to live where I am supposed to live, to live the way I am supposed to live, to be doing what I am supposed to be doing?
To mentally be as stable as I can.
To be settled.
To be happy.
Whether that means being in a life as society expects. Or if it means living a life that doesn't conform to that norm.
If it means not sticking to the town, or country you were born.

Is it ever too late to start this life again?
To try and live your life as it should be?
To discover who you are and how you should live?



Broken Juggler

Not completely broken. Not even as broken as I have been.
But chipped. A big chip.
But fixable.
I hope.

Three areas I feel I have to keep the balls juggling.
You get into a rhythm. Where they are all settled and working well. Ok they could each do with improvement but are steady at least.

And then...one becomes too much.
Through absolutely no fault of your own.
And you are juggling 2 balls. Trying to get that third one back, but wondering if it's worth it anymore.
If the effort of juggling it is worth it.

Worth the time. Effort. Passion. The wasted hours. The wasted thoughts. The wasted moments when you think about it too much, you put into it far more than you get out. And then the cracks start to show.
You make others aware, help me mend myself. Please.
And although help is there.
It doesn't happen.
And you keep trying.
Keep. On. Trying.
I. Can. Do. This.

The energy is drained.
There is little left.
The heart and head says one thing. The gut says another.
But how long do you carry on until it's too much?
Until it affects your everyday life.
When you realise that things seem to be different for you. And 'fair' doesn't come in to play...when it comes to you.

The cracks soon get bigger. A dent.
To the passion.
The pride.
The confidence.
The feeling of "I am good at this. I am worthy. I make a difference" soon becomes "Why the hell am I doing so much for so little?"

How many times do you attempt to fix it?
How many times do you attempt to carry on?
How long do you let things affect other areas of your life?
How many times do you repair yourself?

Repair the cracks.
The breaks.
The dents.

How many times do you drop everything? All the balls. Pick them up and try again.
The balance.
The juggle. 

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