Danielle Colley is a staff writer who also writes popular blog Keeping Up With The Holsbys.
To read more of her work click here
I had a little meltdown a while ago. It wasn’t really a private affair.
In fact, it was a little bit public.
Not public like pulled-my-undies-up-over-my head-and-wailed-in-a-supermarket type public, but public enough that a few of my friends sensed something was up. They rallied and came to my aid as they could see that my frantic waving may actually be me drowning.
This little meltdown was public enough that some of my friends saw my actual tears because I felt squashed by the enormity of this ‘adulting’ business, which is not nearly as liberated as you thought it would be when you were a kid.
After chatting and crying and laughing and drinking buckets of tea, I felt like I was back on top, but I’m left with a residual embarrassment that my friends now may not see me as a super homemaker, juggling children, a career and chainsaws, all without breaking a sweat or losing an appendage.
Now the truth is out there.
I am not Wonder Woman.
I would totally have a crack at wearing her fantastically spunky outfit, but I would be nothing more than a pouchy-bellied mortal in a costume, who really should have considered a bikini wax before donning something so skimpy.
“The cat has barfed on the carpet, and the kids are tearing each other’s hair out while I make spaghetti bolognaise for the fiftieth time this year?
No problem.”
Why does this shame me, to be revealed as merely human?
It makes me wonder about women in general, I mean, what is up with us ladies? And dudes too, I suppose. Dudes aren’t immune to wanting to hide this overwhelming sensation of being swallowed by responsibility, surely?
The exhausting newborn phase, the frustrating toddler phase, ‘tweens, teens, the mind-bending juggling act while you work, keep the house, be an attentive partner, tend the garden, have nutritious dinners on the table not just once, but seven damned times a week, all the while keeping your sanity in check day in and day out.
It is a damned hard slog and no one escapes without feeling like it’s all too hard sometimes.
I must applaud the solidarity of the sisterhood, or mine at least.
I asked for help and my friends were there with hands willing to snap rows of remedial chocolate, and pour medicinal glasses of wine and just talk it all out without judgement.
Debriefing with friends is golden. Sharing similar struggles and imperfect lives is reassuring as we all bumble towards whatever we’re hurtling towards making it all up as we go along and hoping that we’re doing enough not to render our progeny emotional ruins in the future.
One friend said she used to hear her neighbour yelling at her kids and wonder how you could speak to your children like that… and now she feels like she has become that lady.
I sometimes I am that lady too.
Because, I am not Wonder Woman.
Do you ever feel like that lady?
Probably, because you are not Wonder Woman either.
I mentioned on my [Keeping Up With The Holsbys facebook page] that I felt like I was not coping very well, and my online community poured love onto my page.
Some great words of wisdom came from these poeple, some of whom I’ve met in human but mostly virtual strangers.
I want to share a few gems, you know, in case you’re sitting there nodding your head emphatically whilst reaching for therapeutic consumables –
If you start to feel like it’s all too hard, call a friend, and go for a cup of tea.
Take a walk in the sun, or dance to some music that you love.
Honour your feelings. Allow yourself to feel what you’re feeling, but be kind to yourself.
Nurture yourself.
Slow down and breathe.
Have a date night, even on your own.
My personal favourite was have a whiskey. Whiskey always helps.
I just really want to impress upon you, if you’re feeling overwhelmed with this grown-up bullshit you’re not alone. There is no shame in not being Wonder Woman so chat to someone because sharing the struggle brings forth wonderful women… and, of course, wonderful men.
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