It just gets too much sometimes.
It hits me out of nowhere and I just want to fall to the floor and cry at the unfairness of it all.
I’m so fed up of cleaning the house every fucking day for it to still be a shit hole.
I’m so fed up of doing loads upon loads of washing.
I’m so fed up of having to be a bloody Disney character for the majority of the day.
I’m so fed up of constantly worrying that I’m doing it all right.
I’m so fed up of feeling guilty as shit for even thinking about spending time away or going somewhere without having to think about someone else.
I’m so fed up of waiting for a better future, a nicer place to live and a better environment for my family.
I’m so fed up of worrying that I’m being a good mother and a good partner simultaneously. Trying to be the perfect mum but also not lose myself and still be young and fun and alive.
Why are the days so long but the months so short?
Why, when I feel like I’m finally owning this partening shit does it all come crashing down and I suddenly feel like a failure in every aspect of myself?
I know this will pass. I know after I’ve written this I’ll feel the weight lift and be able to breathe again.
But fuck me this is hard. Isn’t it?