Throughout my adult life, I have always been strong, always highly functioning, always worked, always had a life. Not a perfect one, and I’ve made a lot of bad choices, but I always made life everything I could, with what I had at the time.
And as I learned more, I did better. I’ve always wanted to do better. Be a better person.
One thing remained very strong within me – I was never going to let what anyone else had done to me, stop me from living, or ruin my life. I never used my past, as an excuse, never complained about it, I rarely even spoke to my husband about it. He had no clue, my past was as bad as it was, although he knew the bare minimum, and he knew my mother and sisters were very screwed up. But, like everyone, he knew I was ‘different’, but believed I was so strong and had put all that past stuff behind me.
Just like society tells you to. Just like I had to – because I had no support.
So, I worked hard, played hard, did everything to the best of my ability. I am an all or nothing girl, who when something is important – I give it everything I have.
And I never let my past – win. Or so I thought. I had lots of friends, a social life, I loved talking, chatting, helping people. I loved fun and living life to the full, wherever I could.
Now, here I am, confined to my own home, too scared to go out, too afraid to be around people. My past has done the very thing I tried so hard, for so long, not to do. Affected my life so badly, I don’t have a life outside of my home.
I am so exhausted all the time, I can barely type on this blog.
My exhaustion and PTSD, affect me as a mother, wife, emotionally in ways I can barely speak or think about, because the guilt and shame affect me so badly. I am not either a mother or wife, I want to be. I’m assured I am not a bad mother, or wife, I don’t hurt anyone, and I do make as much effort as I can and I try to be happy around them. I mostly manage to keep my sadness, or depression, for when they are not around. But, my limitations as a mother and wife, affect me badly, because I had a bad mother and I have always been so driven to not be ‘my mother’. And I am nothing like my mother.
I love my children, I protect them, I am affectionate, caring, interested in what they are doing and thinking. I try hard to give them and teach them all they need to be secure, caring people, with good values and good hearts. They know they are loved, they know they can trust me and they know I am unwell and I am honest about that. But, to not be ‘supermum’, is an emotional trigger of shame for me, that I have to suppress, because it hurts far too much.
I can’t write anymore. The mum stuff is too hard.