When I started writing in a journal, I was 12 years old. 14 years and about 30 notebooks and diaries later, I started Raising Men at the age of 26. I wrote about my feelings and emotions because I just had so many. I still have so many, but I don't talk about them that much anymore because mostly I can't.
As Raising Men got more popular, things shifted. I held back a lot more because suddenly there were people and stats and traffic sources. When your colleagues, mother in law, boss, clients, the girl you hate from high school, your ex and potential employers all read your blog it becomes tricky. I once sat in an interview for a fantastic PR agency, and the management team was in the boardroom with me, with my CV displayed on a giant projector right in front of all of us. I spoke through my skills, experience and education with ease and confidence. We got on to the subject of blogging and they were like "Oh yes you write Raising Men, let's just *click click click*" and they pulled up my blog. On the projector. I melted red hot in to my chair as my latest post was about my Post Natal Depression and I had been taking Cipralex for a week. Right there in HD for the whole team to see. I managed to side-step and say I was shy about my writing and made the screen go away. I had never felt so exposed... ever. I am not ashamed that I had PND after Benjamin at all - it is completely normal and natural and most women experience some form of this after giving birth.
It's just... I was applying for a job and wanted them to see all my strengths. I wanted them to think I was wonderful and smart and energetic, not laying in bed with a crying baby all day popping anti-depressants (I was). For reasons that completely escape me, I got the job and enjoyed a successful year with the most wonderful colleagues and clients before moving to Cape Town.
The problem is just... Sometimes I really want to shout it all out. I have the very best friends and family that I can confide in, but sometimes I feel quite stupid coming online when I've had the worst day and not telling you about it. I've had the odd remark over the years of "that's not real" and "that's not right" but it is. You handle your personal things the same as you would with any crowd of people. You don't walk in to a busy shopping center and start telling strangers your deepest secrets, because those are your secrets and feminine mystique and some things are just sacred.
I want you to identify with me because I need someone to identify with too. Your emails, tweets and comments have kept me company on many sad days. It's hard when you're at home most of the time with two gorgeous kids (okay maybe not that hard) and you lose touch with how everyone else is feeling. When you tell me that you feel the same, it really centers me. So I want to tell you some of how I'm feeling right now, in the most un-Huisgenoot tone possible.
I don't feel like I'm being a good mom lately. I'm not playing as much or being as attentive or interested. My mind is everywhere else. I really need to spend a whole day cuddling, chatting and telling stories with the boys in bed. They're so amazing. I've been impatient and shoutey and "YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME" lately and it's awful. Over shoes. Over taking so long to do everything. Always making a mess. Not packing things away. You know how it goes. I keep forgetting things like the boys' dog show at school today (I'm sure I was supposed to send money) (why do they need a dog show anyway) (Noah doesn't even like dogs)
I'm really enjoying my work and piling my energy in to it. There are so many exciting things going on. Stepping away from my desk has become harder and harder, so I need to get the old balance back. Hahahaha. Balance. Is this a word invented by men for working moms? Not to be a femmy-feminist, but how often do you hear men say "Oh I'm good, I'm just really struggling to balance my career with fatherhood." *grunts*
I just wanted to pop my head around real quick before the next project comes along. I'm having a sad day for some reason. Aren't they just the worst?