Saturday

Yesterday’s chaos was just the tip of the iceberg. Picking up my youngest three from after-school club, they mention that Izaac is complaining of pain. Driving home, he’s wincing and hurting, and my stomach plummets. We get home, I put him in the shower, and we talk about what hurts—he’s saying it’s his left testicle.

I mean, I don’t have testicles, so I don’t really know what to look for, what I should do. I call 111—none emergency NHS help line. They tell me to head straight to A&E because everyone’s panicking in case he has a twisted testicle. Six hours go by, and the doctor finally says, “I’m sending you to the children’s hospital.” I look at Izaac, he looks at me, and the doctor marches off—ten toes into an office, leaving us in a cubicle with no clue what’s happening.

I’m sweating in places that aren’t good, I’ve been up since 4:45am, I’m tired, hungry, and honestly, I just know I can’t do this right now. Another half hour passes, and I’m called into a side room. We go back and forth with the staff, and after speaking with the children’s hospital, they’ve advised us to go home and keep an eye on him because there might be an infection brewing.

If the pain doesn’t settle, they tell us to go back on Monday. Are you kidding me? Had me sweating in my knickers over a possible infection that we don’t get treatment for right away—just waiting to see if it gets worse. Cool, hun. It’s midnight-ish, and we’re finally heading home.

And that’s just how my weekend started. Honestly, I’d hoped I’d be able to keep up with daily blogging, but parenting, mental health, and life in general have a way of throwing their weight around. I thought I had a grip on everything, but it turns out, I’m just like everyone else—struggling, wobbling, trying to keep my head above water.

This week has been especially tough. I had some bad news at work—a blow I didn’t see coming—and it’s been simmering in my mind ever since. I still have my job, I still love what I do, but the fear of losing it, of everything changing drastically, looms large. If things keep heading in that direction, I don’t know how I’ll handle it. Will I still love my work? Will I be able to keep all the plates spinning? To be continued...

In the midst of this chaos, a little piece of light shone through. 9th November 2024, my dear friend TD passed away. She was one of a kind, truly one of those rare souls who leaves a lasting imprint on everyone she touched. Her birthday was on the 26th of this month, and we marked it quietly—those of us lucky enough to know her. We went to the garden centre, a small gesture for a big heart, and it felt good to be together, remembering her. It’s comforting to know she’s still missed by so many, and that her spirit lives on in all of us.

And oh—how could I forget? On that same day, my two little Asbos turned 13 and 7. How did I end up with two teenage boys? I mean, really. I feel old—probably look it, too—and definitely crack like a glow stick just without the glow. It’s surreal thinking about how quickly time goes by. I remember holding them as tiny babies, and now, they’re towering over me, causing a ruckus with their teenage antics.

I promised I’d be honest here, so… things haven’t been great. I’ve openly shared my struggles with my mental health before, but lately, it’s felt like I’m on a tightrope without a safety net. I’ve been trying to manage everything—work, parenting, my own mental health—and it’s exhausting. Then, there’s been a recent incident involving someone who’s been manipulative and coercive—something I wasn’t ready to face until I found a tracking device hidden in my vehicle. That was the final straw. I’m not ready to go into all the details yet; I need more time to process. But when I do, I promise to be open and honest. Sometimes, just admitting the truth is the first step to healing.

With all the ups and downs, I’ve come to realise that life doesn’t follow a schedule. It’s messy, unpredictable, and sometimes cruel. But amidst all that, I’m learning to be gentle with myself—recognising that some days will be better than others, and that’s okay. Some days, I’ll be able to write or smile; other days, I’ll just have to get through.

Until next time, stay safe, stay brave, and remember: we’re all in this together.