Ever since I can remember, we’ve all been counting our lives by the academic year. September to September, what are you doing for the summer? What are you up to next year? What year is he in?
When are we going to accept that this is it. This is life, it doesnt stop in July and pick up again in the Autumn, it doesnt wait patiently for us to figure out what on earth we want from it. It’s going, like sand through an hourglass, and we’re kind of missing it.
Suddenly I’m 24, married, a mum. And yet today I had a near breakdown over something my own mother said to me. Something she probably said to me for the first time before I hit my 3rd birthday. Back then, I probably shrugged it off and went back to drawing on the walls with her make up. So why today, two decades later, does she have this uncanny ability to press my buttons, to make me doubt myself? Do we ever let go of the perceptions our parents have of us?
I have great friends, a fab husband, a support system of people (family and as good as family) who I know care about me.. and yet I keep coming back to the negative, and judging myself by those who still see me as that obstinate 3 year old. It seems to me that by seeing us as children, our parents actually transform us into that role, making us act like brats, lash out, and lose our newfound ‘adultness’ which we’ve worked so hard to build.
It’s time to be that grown up I was so eager to be as a teenager. Get on with being a wife, and an ima, and a friend to those that want and deserve that friendship. And hope that when my son is in his twenties, I can be blindly proud of a boy who has always felt loved, and have let go of hurt that shouldnt have been mine to begin with.
Living life as an adult? A work in progress i think.. Until then, what am I doing for the summer?