When people ask me what I want out of life, I say happiness. True happiness: no regrets, no sadness for the past, just pure unadulterated happiness. When I was asked this question in my teens and early twenties my answer would be different. “I want to be normal” I’d say. I’ve come a long way since then. All the hard work has paid off and I am in actual fact normal these days. I’m probably considered rather boring to those who hardly know me. The dramas of yester-year have long left the building, and the only dramas I have in my life now are those caused by my fabulous but oh-so-demanding four year old princess.
Both my mother and my step-father had tragic, dysfunctional upbringings. My biological father’s wife does not know I even exist which says a lot about him. I lost count of the amount of times I heard the phrase “my kids will never go through what I went through” while I was growing up. The adults were forever vocalising how things would be different. As if saying it out loud enough would magically mean things would be. They weren’t. History repeated itself over and over again. Bonds were broken between mother and child (not just for my mother but most of her siblings too). The unthinkable occurred and ties were cut. If there is one thing I have learned the hard way it’s that self preservation is key. If walking away from the woman who gave birth to you will secure your future happiness, then it must be done.
I have been through more in my 34 years than most people I know could even dream of, but I decided not to be defined by my past. Not to let it control my present. I also decided not to bring children into the world until I had fixed my damaged, broken self. Knowing how hard motherhood is, I think I would have gone to pieces at every obstacle if I’d had my kids ten years ago. I’m so glad I didn’t. That I held out for a truly amazing man, and we waited until we were confident we could cope before entertaining the idea of a family. I have done what the adults I grew up around were desperate to, but sadly failed miserably at achieving.
I’ve been told by so many people over the years that I simply must write a book. That my story is too fascinating not to be heard. Book, blog, same difference these days. It’s been six months since I started Mummy Tries, and one hell of a cathartic journey so far. I hope you’re enjoying the ride as much as I am!