You better lose yourself…

I feel like my posts are coming thick and fast cos I have so much to get off my chest. This is like therapy, but cheaper. And compared to the NHS counselling I was given, actually quite effective. I hope you don’t mind, the one person who seems to be reading this. Bet it’s my mum. My mum rules, hi mum. 

I’m not usually as morbid as I seem to be coming across, I used to be quite fun. On my CV I described myself as “bubbly and outgoing”. Heck, I’ve used an Eminem song as my post title, I’m wild! (Interestingly my iPad just autocorrected wild to old, how rude.) Does anyone else seem to have lost the person they were before they had a baby? I’m sure she’s still there, she pops up every now and again and I see Pete look so pleased thinking I’m all back to normal and then the next minute I’m the spaced out weirdo again obsessed with waiting 30 minutes for the boiled kettle to cool. Concentrating on anything has been pretty much impossible since Frankie came along, films are hard. I used to have quite a full on job that I’m pretty sure I was good at, this version of me literally cannot even decide what to eat for dinner. 

I feel like writing has allowed me to bring myself out again slowly but surely. I’m writing these to an audience that I don’t even have but the process of creating a post is hugely satisfying and I’m loving it. I used to write a lot, I really wanted to be an investigative journalist when I was younger but then I did rubbish in my A levels and decided against going to uni. Instead I’ve settled for writing a blog with myself as the audience (and my mum) and having the ability to find anything you need on Google; so a poor mans investigative journalist. 

I’m surprised that the more I write, the more I want to write. I once spoke to an author who said that was the key; just write, about anything and everything. So maybe something more will come of this other than just a reestablished sense of self. I miss me, I used to amuse myself. I think the old me would look at this dishevelled me and despair. I’d take me shopping but maternity pay doesn’t really lend itself to shopping sprees! Writing feels very self indulgent to me, it’s like my guilty pleasure at the moment, so much so that I’m almost embarrassed to do and to admit to people in real life that I’m doing. Is that normal? Have I really neglected this side of myself so long that it would feel a bit wrong?

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