It started with a knitting group on Friday night — a chance to get away for a couple of hours, to sit amongst adults, with busy hands and lively chatter, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I came home fresh and energised.
And though I would be up later that night three times with one child and twice with the other, it mattered not one jot to me. Because later that next day, I headed off across the city, with my wheel in the boot and the wind at my back, to sit in the company of other spinners — accomplished, inspiring fibre artists — and spin until I had… well, not my fill — I could have spun all night — but as long as I dared stay away from the chaos that I was sure was in full swing at home. But though I wrenched myself away early, I walked back to the car newly calm and feeling so empowered that I was almost high. And when I got home, I found — to my utter shock — a happy husband playing happy children, who never got their nap because, as it turned out, he was enjoying being with them. I glanced out the window to check that the Earth was still spinning on its axis.
And then he surprised me again: my mother would be arriving in an couple of hours and we — he and me — were going out to the pub, where we drank and chatted and laughed as if… as if we remembered who we were again. And I remembered that I really do enjoy his company — and realised how much I’d forgotten that. And I remembered that we are each other’s best friend.
For the first time in months, I felt like myself again. I felt like I knew who I was again. And just like that, I have hope and enthusiasm and energy — even through the kids playing up, even when I sat down to balance the bills against the bank account… Just like that, I feel like I can take on the world.
So if that is being myself again, then who have I been this past year? Who has M been? I don’t know, but I know I’d be glad to see the back of both of them. Because being in my own skin again this weekend just felt so good.