Being chronically ill is exhausting. Add some children into the mix and some (most) days I feel like I am trying to walk through mud, out of spoons before I’m even out of bed. I make bargains with myself all day long; juggling trying to be a good mum with trying to treat my body kindly and not beat myself up when I’m feeling beat up.
I find that I am always pushing myself just enough to keep them happy, but not so much that I’m left hobbling about, necking painkillers like smarties and I am always trying to figure out how to reconcile the part of me that buys into empowered feminist narratives around self-love, self-care and taking time to heal, with the part of me that has two small people to keep alive.
Because ultimately my body might need to rest, but they don’t.
