Enough

I am enough… The thought echoes through my head as I am frantically trying to get ready to leave the house to buy some essentials. The fridge is bare, the emergency milk has been used and my nerves resemble the empty spaces in the cupboards. I have run out of time to do almost everything. A busy job, a busy family life with two little kids, a busy planning for the future period in our year, it’s taking its toll. I feel fraught, on the verge of snapping, like that thin twig my eldest is slapping against the fence in our garden. I run around like a lunatic, trying to keep some kind of order in the chaotic everyday life whilst the baby sleeps. ‘Just five more minutes, five more minutes’, I pray silently, whilst gritting my teeth as I ram some nappies in the changing bag. Everything is running wild. ‘Running wild is good’ I tell myself, whilst cleaning up my baby’s sick from myself and the floor. ‘Running wild is empowering, enabling, fabuloustastic!’ I don’t feel it. I suck the air through my teeth as the pearls of my favourite bracelet jump all over the pavement, bouncing off the hard surface, disappearing into holes, grooves, the thicket of a bush. It never rains… How can I be enough if I can’t even do the shopping and keep the house tidy? How can I be the responsible adult if my hands break everything?
And then something happens. As my eldest laughs crazily and happily as I run pushing the pram through the park, giggling and throwing my hair back, people staring at me but smiling at the same time, when I hand her a small bowl of ice cream later whilst we’re sitting on a picnic blanket, as we kick about a football in the sunshine, as she blows dandelion seeds everywhere, as my baby wakes and gives me the biggest smile – I suddenly know that everything is OK, and, most importantly, I am enough, have been and always will be. I am enough

and perfectly fine.

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