Happy pills

Nothing beats asking a children’s pirate/magician if he can do a “zombie/pirate/magician” for putting the spring back in your step. And here I was thinking I needed happy pills. Or more exercise. Or less alcohol. Or a good shake. Something to stop me being so down on everything. It seems I just needed to do some zombie cajoling for Sprog 1’s birthday party: “Shouldn’t be too tricky, some green face paint, a couple of fake, open wounds …” I mean, how can you feel blah suggesting that? It adds an instant 10 centimetres to your day. But its not a long-term solution to my problem. And I need to find one, because this low-mood thing is becoming a big snore. I got my first wake-up call earlier this week while having lunch with a friend. She said: “I read a few of your blogs while you were away and just thought, ‘Come on, the holiday can’t be that bad’.” Mind you, she reckons she’s never suffered from family fatigue syndrome, so maybe she’s attained a level of contentment higher than I can ever hope to reach. Perhaps I should start lying about the holiday. Just smile and say, “yes, it was wonderful” when people ask. Instead of sounding like the biggest whinger on the planet, complaining about having to spend a few weeks in the south of France and Spain. Boo-hoo, poor me. But it’s not just the holiday. I’m down on my weight. I’m down on my future career prospects. I’m down on my site traffic. I’m down on man-flu-riddled Husband. It’s turning me into a big, fat bore to be around. I’m also needing to tipple mid-week. By 5pm, I’m hanging for a glass of wine, as armour for the kiddie march to dinner, bath and bed. By the second glass, I’m all buzzed and cheery. It’s irresistible. Last night, I foolishly poured a third. Big mistake. Why? Because alcohol – surprise, surprise – is a depressant. That lovely buzz doesn’t last, it’s invariably replaced (at least for me) with mopey fuzz. So I woke at 5.30am with the weight of the world on my shoulders. It’s not right to be bleak before you even get out of bed. Fortunately I made it out of the house and went for a walk, which got the endorphins jumping. It also made me realise it’s time to find an interest aside from navel gazing, playroom tidying and zombie party organising.   

TONIGHT’S MENU: Don’t care! I’m going to the pub for a friend’s birthday, while man-flu-riddled husband stays at home with the Sprogs. As proof that I’m not depressed, just “low-mood”, I’m really looking forward to it. So there, Husband.

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3 thoughts on “Happy pills

  1. Hang in there, it’s a process! 20 years of habit can’t be undone in 3 months and o/s holiday, even if it is the south of France and Spain. It’s a fine balance between acknowledging ones true feelings and looking for the positive in everyday life. Motherhood, career and personal satisfaction are a minefield. Not sure I get it right most days!! Coffee, soon???

  2. Yoga is great! A project is also great. Creative writing is great as well (and a friend of mine said she was going to contact you re your script!!!).

    But like Jemma said, you’ve had a huge transition… give yourself a break! Sounds like you’re doing everything right, including the friends birthday at the pub!

    And yes, travelling in Europe with kids can be absolutely exhausting. It is a change of location (albeit nice) rather than holiday… but there is light at the end of the tunnel. My kids are now far better to take anywhere… although change of career for me means that’s not so easy… but that’s another story. Hang in there girlfriend!

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