Being a mother brings with it unimaginable joy. It is a huge privilege to be responsible for the nurturing, guidance and for simply the loving of little humans. You are their world and they become yours.
Every so often however I seem to get stuck in a rut. I become a slave to domesticity and it begins to steal my personality and joy away.
I go from work to home and back again. I cook, clean, wash, prepare, organise, love, hold and care for. I walk the dog, meet deadlines at work, keep up with school events, children’s parties, round and round we go on the never ever ending cycle.
Drawing pictures with my children, walking the dog and sometimes cooking can bring me tiny snippets of joy in amongst the busyness. However, you must still jump back onto that ever turning wheel. I get stuck in a rut where I dedicate myself every single cell of “me” to my family.
“And so you should” some might say. You are a mother it is your duty”
Yes I am a mother and I do have duties.
I however, am not a Slave
Every so often my mind or more specifically my intuition begins to scream at me.
“Stop, do something for yourself”
Yesterday I needed to buy a whole new set of clothes for my growing five and a half year old. From socks to jocks to caps and hoodies.
The young man serving me at the checkout who could not have been more that 19 was very friendly with a kind yet innocent face. He had scanned a huge pile of children’s clothes and placed them in bags for me. Then at the end of the pile he came to a single black lace bra on sale for $7. He looked up at me and said “all of these children’s clothes and you just get this for yourself”.
There he had it, this young man yet to experience much of the world summed up motherhood in one sentence and one cheap black bra.
It really does not take much to recharge the part of “me” which yearns for escape and creativity, but somehow I so easily slip into slave mode. I just keep charging on until everything in my head becomes negative and shit.
It has taken me a few years to learn that I must act upon these warning signs shouting at me.
There has to be more to life than being a domestic slave. It kills me softly. I love being a mother but motherhood has the potential to suck you dry and leave you a shell of a woman with no personality.
So today on this Easter Monday I asked Mr Skippy my own personal kangaroo if he would allow me time to sit at my writing desk. The place I yearn to be most days, writing, editing photographs, learning to be me again. Seeking that creative outlet my true self desires.
It is only then that I can be the mother I want to be. The mother my gorgeous boys need me to be.
The one who is fun, who climbs the playground equipment with them, who jumps on the scooters with them, who dances with them, and draws with them who reads to them who holds them when they cant sleep who holds their hands in the car even though my arm might twist off at any second.
It is easy to give so much when you have been energised. It is the energy that I need to maintain for me and for them.