Kids love full houses. Voices. And people. And playing. Laughing. Games and big tables. Snacks and treats.
Maybe it’s the hardest part. The one that says, on a daily basis, it’s just the two of us.
Just him and me.
And seeing him missing something. The people. The voices. The fun. The funny part of life. Missing his friends as soon as we are back home. Missing his grand-parents as soon as they are back home.
When I feel down, I feel guilty.
But some days are good. Some days are even great fun. Just the two of us.
But I know he is in need of something more. So we go out. And spend days with family. And we meet people. And I try not to feel blue too often, or at least leave the blues for later. When he is in bed. And I remember the chance we have to be where we are.
When I was a little girl, I was a dreamer. I would spent hours looking outside , creating stories, building up spaces that talk to me, of a world that would enhance beauty, joy, peace, love. Teachers did not like it. I was too slow. I was too shy. I was too much of this and not enough of that.
When I was a little girl, I would talk out loud. Not to myself. To angels and people around that nobody could see but me. People didn’t like it. They thought others would say I’m crazy or something like this. They wanted me to stop acting weird.
When I was a little girl, I had dreams. I wanted to care for others. I wanted to help, guide, and heal. They looked at me like it wasn’t what would give me what I needed to feed a family. They told me to go for something else; I listened to them and I am now stuck in a job that pays the rent and makes everybody else happy but me.
I don’t know it all.
But I don’t want you to think that you are limited, that some places, some dreams are not for you. I don’t want you to say that you are not good enough, that you are an idiot. You are not. You are great and precious.
I don’t want you to believe that others know the truth. They don’t. There is not one truth. We all have ours. There is not one way. But plenty.
I don’t know it all.
But I’ll do my best to be always here for you, to trust you, to guide you and to be with you whatever road you choose to walk.
I like days spent at the park just outside home. Kids playing. I love watching them.
I remember the first time we came here, his first steps on this ground. He would not let go of my hand. He’d rather like me to go down the slide with him, make sandcastles and build games with leaves and chestnuts.
Now as soon as we step inside this space, he is running towards his friends. If nobody is there, he’s confident enough to play on his own or make new friends.
When I stop and take the time to look at him, I breath in the knowledge that we found her balance by walking at our own pace.
We spent time together. He spent time with his friends. He made new ones and let some others go.
We let time flow without wishing to hold it, like we tend to do the rest of the year, fearing to lose it doing nothing of interest, feeling trapped in hours that go too quickly before we know it.
Holidays are the time we needed. For us. For us a a family.
It’s tough sometime to be just of the two of us. Some days are hard for him I know. He told me so. He would like more people around. He would like to live with noise and mess, laughs, toys scattered all around the place, diners with many stories to be told.
But we ought to do with the cards we have in hands. I don’t wish to live with “if”. We are building relationships on strong basis and we are always happy to do things together. Most of the time, we’ll do our best. For the rest, we’ll go with the flow…
As far back as I can remember I always had a clear idea of what a strong woman is and how she should behave. A strong woman would do whatever she could to have all situations under control, would not need help and would not ask for it either, would manage on her own and would succeed alone.
This was before. Before what?
Before I had no other choice than say “I need help”. I need help to go through the day. I need help to wake up, stand up and live. I need help to overcome my fears, doubts. I need help to love my child. I need help to face past memories. I need help to rebuild my life. I need help to forgive. I need help to love myself.
And my idea of what a strong woman is changed.
We often think that asking for help is a proof of our inability to face life and its challenges.
If you ask mums, friends, people around you, I bet that the answer you’ll hear most of the time will be something like this “I don’t want to ask for help. I’m fine. I’ll deal with it like a big girl”.
Why can’t “being a big girl” and “asking for help” go together? Why do we, women, mums, think that if we ask for help, people will consider us failures?