Life, as it stands, is chaos. It’s messy, loud, and overwhelming—but it’s mine. And while I’m not in the business of sugar-coating, there’s something grounding about acknowledging that this isn’t forever.
The past two years have been tough. Grief crept into every corner of my life, casting shadows even in the brightest moments. There were months when it felt like I was drowning in sadness, unable to fully be the mum my kids deserved. I was there, physically, with hugs, kisses, and bedtime stories, but my mind was somewhere darker. And it hurt, deeply, knowing my children likely felt that disconnect.
But here’s the thing: I’m coming to terms with the fact that I’m not perfect—and that’s okay, I’m a working progress. Actually, it’s more than okay. Perfection is a myth we’ve been sold, but what matters is showing up, even when you’re broken, even when it’s hard. And my kids? They’ve shown me more grace than I could ever give myself.
The Bright Spots
When I feel like I’m teetering on the edge, those tiny hands grab my face, and their little voices tell me they love me. It’s in those fleeting moments that the chaos doesn’t feel so heavy. Their smiles are my calm in the storm, my reset button, my reminder to keep going.
My children are loud, full of life, and utterly exhausting. But they are mine, and I couldn’t be prouder. My daughter is a diva in the making—bold, fierce, and unafraid to push boundaries. My son is a whirlwind of mischief and curiosity. Together, they’re a duo that tests my patience daily, but they are also my greatest joy.
Leaning on My Rock
Through all of this, my husband has been my anchor. He’s the best father to our children, my unwavering support, and the reason I could have the time I needed to grieve. There’s no way I could have navigated the darkness without him holding things together when I couldn’t.
Yet, guilt lingers. I’m still working on forgiving myself for not being fully present for my kids during that time. But I’ve learned to be kinder to myself because what’s important now is moving forward.
Perspective from the Chaos
This whirlwind of emotions and events hasn’t brought a grand cinematic epiphany, but it has given me clarity. Life isn’t about being perfect or always having it together. It’s about showing up, stumbling through the hard times, and finding the beauty in the imperfections.
I’ve accepted that I’ll never be that polished, organised mum who has everything colour-coded and under control. And honestly, that’s bloody brilliant. Life is messy, and that’s what makes it real. My kids will face their own challenges, make mistakes, and experience highs and lows—that’s just life.
Temporary Spaces
Right now, we’re still displaced, living in my in-laws’ house while repairs drag on at what used to be our lovely home. I am endlessly grateful for their generosity, but I won’t lie—it’s exhausting. There’s no escape, no quiet corner to recharge. And while I genuinely value them and the relationship we have, I know we all need our own space to keep that relationship strong.
It’s been three months, and I miss my home—the space, the familiarity, even the flaws I used to complain about. I would give anything for a dry house with my own living room, no matter how small. But until then, we manage.
Vent and Move Forward
Writing this is cathartic, even if it feels like a rambling mess. It’s a snapshot of where I am—stretched thin, venting in the spare room of my in-laws’ house while my daughter conspires with her grandmother and my son tries to dismantle something he shouldn’t.
This is life right now, messy and far from perfect. But it’s mine. And as overwhelming as it gets, I know that better days are ahead. Until then, I’ll hold onto those fleeting moments when little hands grab my face and remind me what it’s all for.
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