I’m allowed to have a moment aren’t I?
I wrote “Don’t Touch Me” when I felt a certain kind of way about the pressure and expectations I feel most days. I wrote it about a failed relationship initially… but now when I read it, it hits different.
People ask a lot, whether they mean to or not, and all to often I feel like I have lengths of cotton thread under my skin, pulling in different directions. It hurts and it is tiring. Even when each person is only asking one thing – it adds up to be overwhelming and stifling.
It makes me want to say – don’t touch me…. Just give me a moment.
I’m a single mum to Mandela, and this means the buck stops with me. Every time. Anything he hasn’t learned is on me. Anything opportunity he isn’t given is on me. Any hurt he suffers is on me. There is no one else.
I am sick of being the bad cop all the time. I am tired of making all the decisions. I hate leaving him to work, or to do anything for myself… but I do, setting into motion a whole spiral of Mama Guilt… I know the single mamas know what I am talking about.
It makes me want to say – don’t touch me…. Just give me space.
I’m sick of being interrupted and I am mad at myself that I am not embracing every precious moment that he is still a child, and I resent the fuck out of my x and the world for forcing me to choose the survival of my kid and I over my career/success, and then for judging me for not being good enough at my career or parenting.
It makes me want to say – don’t touch me.
Just now my son interrupted me to ask why we had ten fingers and ten toes. I said it was so we could count to ten.
He then said, but we can count to ten on our fingers, why do we need toes as well. I replied, “So we can count to 20!!” Now I have lost my train of thought!
There is more I could write but why?