Sometimes I hate being a mom. And I’m not afraid to say it.

There’s a lot of people out there who like to rave about the joys of parenthood, how much they love their children, how sweet life is and how perfect family can be.

My response is “fuck that, at present, I hate it.”

At this exact moment in time, I have never hated anything more than I hate being a mom right now. I would happily trade this role for something else in a heartbeat.

I hate it.

I hate the stages the boys go through; Noah becoming increasingly cheeky and rude as he questions authority and pushes boundaries, whilst Isaac thinks he’s completely independent and doesn’t listen to anything I say.

I can’t stand the fact that, while I am barely in a state to think for myself, I have to think through every decision of the day for them and god help me if I make a wrong decision and fail them miserably as a parent.

Whilst I know D works bloody hard for good reason, it pisses me off immensely that I often feel like a single parent, working every single second my eyes are open, usual on a ridiculous number of things all at the same time. The frustration of him not having enough hours in the day to see them, while I end up with the feeling that actually, someone else can have my hours so I can do something else I can actually enjoy.

I won’t sugar coat my life, I will actually tell it like it is. I shut myself down to them because quite frankly, at this very moment, I’ve had enough of them. I can’t even pretend to love them, not when all I want to do is escape or sleep or piss off somewhere else and leave everything behind. Do I want to go out and “find a new me”? No, not necessarily, I just want to escape what feels like imprisonment. This feeling of being shackled down with no sign of escape, counting the years until they leave home and I can feel a chance to breathe my own air.

Am I being harsh? Probably. I can hear the sharp intakes of breath, the people thinking “how can she say such things? These are her children; if she doesn’t want them then why did she have them?” I don’t even have an answer for them, apart from that they can piss off and take their judgemental attitudes someplace else. Or, I invite them to spend a day inside my head, listening to everything acutely, unable to switch off, over-processing everything and feeling like they’re getting nowhere. Apart from maybe, further into the blackness.

The worst is feeling like I am right now, worse than when I started writing this post some 4 hours ago. I’ve since yelled until I’m almost hoarse, my eyes are stinging from the impending migraine and having fucked up dinner (bastard oven constantly billowing out smoke), and I am so very, very numb. I’ve put the boys to bed (solo bedtime routine) and felt almost nothing when Noah said “I love you mommy, please can I give you a cuddle.” You would think that would move someone to tears, right?

But instead of tears of happiness, I sit here with tears of resentment, tears of emptiness, tears of wondering what the fuck I did wrong, tears of wondering if I can ever, ever make this hell any better.

I actually want to walk away from so much right now. I can’t remember ever being so tired, physically and mentally. I can’t remember having felt so horribly alone. I can’t remember having faith and trust in no one, since I have no faith in myself.

The numbness is really weird. It’s always there but it sometimes strengthens in great waves. Most of the time, my body and mind just don’t give a shit and literally, my brain starts singing “traa lalalalalalaaaaa” to drown everything else out. But sometimes the numbness is so severe it starts shutting everything else down. There’s no mindless singing, there’s no feeling of any emotions, there’s just nothing. I don’t even know why I’m crying now, which makes this even more pathetic.

I want to sleep, yet the thought of sleep terrifies me because I know it will all start again when I wake up.

And so I want my time away from being a mom, because when I’m not being a mom, I’m a human being. It’s that glimpse into normality which I crave so badly and wonder if it will ever be a part of my life again. I want to be able to think for myself, and not have to spend all my time answering questions for everyone else on behalf of them. I want to not be pulled 17 different ways, to not constantly be in demand from someone, somewhere; to not have the feeling that someone is breathing down my neck waiting for something every fucking hour of the day.

The boys are in bed right now. I have had a drink and all I want to do is get in the car, drive, and hope the steering wheel doesn’t bring me back here for a good few days. Maybe weeks. Maybe several months. Maybe I’ll never come back. Their dad will be home soon, and there’s plenty of people who could help him look after them, right? I could just drive into some kind of oblivion, like some kind of non-existence; I wouldn’t kill myself, I’d just stop existing.

But this is all crazy talk isn’t it? There are so many people out there with lives worse than mine, of course! Moms of 5, 6, 7 and many more, and they just get on with it, right? I should just shut the fuck up and stop whinging, right? That’s how we deal with it, isn’t it? Sweep it under the carpet, lock it behind a door, push it wayyyyyy down the back there and pretend it’s not really happening right?

Yeah, I’m afraid that doesn’t work.

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