Hello.

I only went to pop the kettle on and now it’s 378 days later.

I didn’t intend to put my blog to sleep for a year but life kind of got in the way. I’ve been asked countless times why I stopped writing, which was lovely as it meant that people had noticed. I haven’t really given it up, I just needed time to figure out what I’m doing and why I’m doing it. I don’t want to be just another “mummy blogger” cliché. I don’t particularly want to write successful tales of pureeing or sell out and review things that I really don’t care about. I don’t want to fuss about stats and awards or pander to the self-appointed hierarchy that exists within the blogging world. I just want to feel that rush of thought, the whirl of words in the mind, the grab of the laptop, the scribbled notes during the night. That passion and thrill that comes from reading something back and thinking “that was pretty good!

I’m lucky to live in a town that surrounds me with talented, creative and interesting people. It’s those people who inspire me but also make me feel very average and, frankly, dull. On complimenting a friend on his musical talent recently, his reply was “……and you’re good at….well…..(*pause*)….producing small people”. It was meant as a genuine compliment, one of admiration and a little bit of envy. But, I took it quite badly. I actually cried a little bit when I got home. Is that really all I am now? Is it common to feel like this when you’re mother to two very small children? Does anybody care to know anything about ME, where I’ve lived, what I’ve done? Do I even have a name or am I just Mummy? The comment made me feel so lost, so invisible, lonely and trapped in this no man’s land of sacrifice and giving. My confidence is on its arse. Even I refer to myself in the third person. “Mummy said don’t stick your face in the bin!”. It’s a repetitive, ridiculous game of ‘Simon Says’. “Mummy said put your hat on, Mummy said eat your dinner.” I caught myself doing it when I was alone in a room, not a child in sight…..”Mummy’s putting her shoes on….”

At the same time, I remind myself how lucky I am. Ahead are a few years of giving every fibre of my being to some little people, strengthening their wings until they’re ready to fly. If I have to give up my identity for that, what could be more worthwhile?

I need to get my ‘oomph’ back, forget the exhaustion, ignore that my body’s in tatters and that I have zero spare time. I need to get a little bit of confidence back, to feel that I do have something to say. To feel that I’m actually a person in my own right.

And I want to write some stuff.

I’m Lynn. Hello.

 

 



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