With lockdown gradually easing, life is getting more complicated. For what seemed like forever, we were forced into tiny bubbles – getting from dawn ‘til dusk in a fairly linear fashion. Eating, exercising, shopping, sleeping. We shed all the non-essential paraphernalia to leave us with a simplicity that could be as terrifying as it was comforting.
Now I am not only back to my day job, but also working some hospital shifts, training to give immunisations, and contact tracing – made possible by the reopening of childcare back in June. Suddenly it’s as though I have been shattered into a million tiny fragments. It’s exhilarating after months of sameness but also scary.
In common with many mums I can end up feeling so diluted I’m practically homeopathic. Sometimes we spend so long juggling so many plates, we never stop to actually do anything properly. I think it’s why I haven’t written much recently. Writing requires perspective, and it’s hard to achieve when your nose is squashed to the wall.
I do though thrive on variety and busy-ness. It is a form of self-care, although it is a million miles from the kind of calming tranquillity I normally associate with the term. But as I scale up the various parts, I need to make sure there is something of me left at the centre. In short I need to avoid becoming Voldemort, divided up into horcruxes to the point of non-existence.
Now there’s a life goal. Note to self, must not become evil wizarding master-villain. I’ll let you know how I get on….