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The swimming pool.

I blamed my mood swings on a possible dip in my hormones, I had read it in one of the magazines from a hospital visit some time ago. I read that sometimes women will feel emotional when they stop breastfeeding. I think this information stayed in my mind and my subconscious brought it up when it felt relevant. I am not even sure I believed that but the diagnosis was enough to sooth the irritation felt from the constant changes in my mood.

January 6th 2018. 

 My head felt fuzzy as if I had gone under water in the swimming pool and got up too fast.
But it didn’t go away like it did in the swimming pool, it lingered for much longer. 

Some of my greatest achievements through the ‘moody days’ as I call them were when I woke up on time to prepare a big breakfast for everyone. I called up to the boys,  my happy voice echoing up the stairs. I prepared fresh coffee, ignoring the milk puddles on the work tops. I played music quietly and the pleasure it gave me was noticeable in my face.


Lunch boxes filled with attention to detail, clothes chosen carefully and my lipstick applied just so.

If I took a picture of this morning, there would be a big yellow glow shining through the window from the rising sun. There would be laughter smiles and eye creases.

I would like a picture of  this morning.



I tampered with my thoughts, adjusting them so they could sit perfectly in the back of mind. My experiences were not being experienced as much as they used to. But I still knew what life was because I felt it. I was surviving. – (one of the pages from my tatty notebook probably some time in december) 


The moody mornings always started late. I locked my eyes on my alarm clock as if I would some how be able to change the time, if I concentrated hard enough the minuets would reverse. In the time I spent staring at the clock grumbling to myself, time had slipped away.

The morning rituals felt like chores.

Breakfast cereal poured carelessly in little plastic bowls, the milk over flowing on to the table. I breathed loudly deliberately so everyone could hear me. I wanted them to know I was in a mood, I needed them to hear the impatience in my breath.

Francis played with his figures at the table whilst shoveling large spoonfuls of crunchy cereal in his mouth. The crunching annoyed me.

I was angry that I felt angry.

No sooner had everyone finished their breakfast I whipped their bowls away and returned to the table with a cloth to clean up the spillages. Moaning about it as I scrubbed.

The instant guilt felt like a pin to a balloon, bursting without much pressure.

A single pin. 


And there I was just like the sad deflated balloon. 

I made this happen, I was both the pin and the balloon, the attacker and the victim. 


Occasionally I still purposefully roll my eyes and feel like the battle is constant between me and myself. But my awareness of the changes I often feel has allowed me to open up to those around me. Preparing them in some ways for my shorter  sentences and prolonged sighs.

My head is above water and at least I know now that when I decide to go under I should take my time coming up.

This is us post school run – there were no tears from either of us. It is going to be a good afternoon:)

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Thank you for reading my little blog, I hope you enjoy it and will continue to support me on my journey.

I plan on focusing on regular uploads it just means my photos will not be as professional as they have been – I will save those for the more creative writing style blog posts.


Much love to you all xx





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