I’ve spent seven days staring at my sparkly shellac manicure on my sun lounger in Spain whilst sipping sangria and deciding exactly what in my life needs to change on my return to a less than sunsoaked Scotland. You know the way you do on holiday.
So far on my list I have ‘buy a new shower curtain, get an orchid for the windowsill in the bathroom’ and ‘start eating quinoa.’ That’s it. This year I’m not sure if I’ve made a subconscious choice not to embark on a mammoth life change post holidays or if I’m purposefully avoiding the Big Stuff.
My usual sun lounger plans tend to involve fabulous diets which result in next years beach body being hotter than hot, keep fit regimes which do the same, taking up a new hobby which expands my thinking, social life or bank balance or some other mad cap plan that’ll be a flash in the pan within a month of my return. But this year I approached holidays with a slightly different mindset.
One Saturday waaaaayyyy back in April I woke up next to Super Daddy who was snoring in that comforting way that he does, I could hear the kids giggling in one or other of their bedrooms signalling that even at this early hour they had started their day with gusto. Whilst closing my eyes and dozing would have been my preferable option, or mooching downstairs and bringing a hot cup of tea back to bed , I felt, well, odd.
My stomach was churning – proper washing machine spin cycle stuff, and I felt scared, nervy, edgy and uncertain. I mulled over whether I’d had a bad dream that had shaken me, but nothing I could recall. I quickly ran through our plans for the weekend in my mind to see if something was triggering this feeling. Again, no, all the usual lovely weekend plans with friends and family lay ahead. My stomach ploughed through its washine washing spin cycle. I felt sick, uncertain and worried. And it hasn’t stopped feeling like that since.
I look back over the last 12 weeks still wondering what happened. Several doctors visits, lots of illogical thinking and starting each day with a gut wrenching whirl of uncertainty, fear and worry, it transpires I’m trying to manage Generalised Anxiety Disorder. Oh. My. GAD. It’s awful. And apparently it’s really common. One in three people feel like this on a regular basis.
I don’t know where to start in writing about it, or if indeed I will write anymore at all on the matter, but anyone who has checked in on Super Mummy now and again will see that for some time, I’ve simply not been writing at all.
I’ve been selective in who I’ve told (until now), this feeling being so at odds with the person that others think I am. The person I think I am. Always in control, got it all together, how does she do it?
I’ve consulted various books, friends, websites, leaflets, spoken to people who’ve been there themselves, some I knew had, others I just discovered, and yes, it is very common. I have constantly looked for the ‘trigger’; initially I thought I’d found it, delighted that I was back in control, I thought I was better. Then it turns out, no. It crept up again, or rather just hit me out of the blue like a truck. How I got through that particular day I do not know. But I did.
So for this week, buying my orchid and shower curtain and eating quinoa is about as big as it gets, and thats just fine with me.