What She Said: ‘Don’t isolate yourself in whatever roadblocks you come up against’

I was having a crappy few days (few weeks, actually). I was run down, just exhausted. First world problem stuff of course. I got burnt out mostly from parenting and I am 12 months into chronic back pain with no sign of things improving despite all my efforts. I think the constant discomfort colours my mood more than I even realise. My son, in fairness to him, had been battling a seasonal virus for weeks on end and he just couldn’t shake it. He was mostly miserable, cranky and any sensitivities or toddler fussiness we normally deal with went up tenfold. Only I would do for him, yet I couldn’t do anything right. While I reckon I’m pretty patient for the most part, and seem to have a reservoir of love and compassion that I was not aware of until I became a mother, I do, on occasion, run dry.

I felt myself reaching that familiar parenting point of having a completely empty cup (or reservoir if we’re sticking with that visual), where I might have raised my voice or snapped at someone. I would do my utmost never to snap at my son but my husband can certainly feel the effects of my low battery from time to time. And so I did what I always do and started to record a voice note to send to a friend who would always hold space for me to vent. A friend for whom I would regularly do the same. We get it all out, safe in the knowledge that we are not being judged, that these are normal feelings to feel, that we’re allowed to share them, and aware that it’s incredibly healthy to get it out of you rather than swallow it down only to find yourself exploding later on at an inopportune time. We know that allowing each other a moment to say ‘hey, this is hard’, does not in any way negate the love and appreciation for what we have. It’s simply about diffusing the tension that can build up so that you can reset and go back to giving 110%.

But I deleted the voice note and decided I’d better not say it. As I alluded to in the beginning, these are all privileged problems to have. I am beyond lucky to be able to complain about these things from time to time. But in the context of the horror that’s unfolding on the other side of the world since October, my problems felt frivolous. Ridiculous. How dare I complain about all of the above when I might, a moment later, open my Instagram to find some horrifying imagery of Palestinian children who’ve lost their lives? It’s unthinkable. Unconscionable. If it doesn’t make you stop and think ‘wow, how lucky we are to be over here, safe’, and reset your perspective on the things that get you down, you might not have a pulse.

But while we can have moments of a perspective shift, the human brain cannot retain the idea that ‘it could be worse’ at all times. It is in our nature to be consumed by our own immediate circumstances, be they born of a world of privilege or not. Just because we know, and feel great empathy towards the people of Palestine (or any other people subject to such atrocities), our brains and bodies still produce a stress response, triggered by what it experiences in our own day to day lives. A lack of sleep, a fight with a partner, a high pressure work deadline – we cannot, unfortunately, hope to switch off this innate reaction inside of us just because we know how lucky we really are.

I didn’t send the message because I felt ashamed for even having those thoughts. My worry though is that in our collective efforts to show more care to the people that really need it, we will also shame ourselves into believing that what we go through ourselves is no longer valid. We might stop sharing. We might diminish what we go through to such an extent that we don’t deal with things that are still worth dealing with, relatively speaking. And that might have a significant and negative impact on our mental health. We had reached a point where putting our hands up and saying ‘hey, I’m finding this a bit difficult’ was being normalised. It was giving everyone else the permission to honour their feelings too. But I can’t imagine myself taking to Instagram at the moment to talk about having had a shit week. It would feel utterly tone deaf and insensitive.

While we might ought not to broadcast our woes, it is important that we hold space for both truths. That yes we are very lucky, that yes we should turn our energies towards those who need our help and our voices, but that also yes, you are still entitled to have a crappy day and need to unload a bit. If we start believing that our worries are so insignificant, to the extent that we push them deep down inside of us, we create more problems.

I would hate to think that a friend of mine was going through a really tough time but not saying it. For example a new mother in the throes of those first few exhausting weeks or someone who’s stuck in a cycle of stressful arguments with their other half. So do share and comment and voice and march for what you believe is right. But don’t negate the fact that your body will still feel stress and anxiety due to things we know we’re lucky to complain about. Don’t turn against yourself or stop sharing. Don’t isolate yourself in whatever roadblocks you come up against. Do allow the perspective shift to happen in a way that doesn’t shame yourself at the same time.

I’m not sure who needs to hear that, but I think I for one did.

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