I cannot deny I have been raised on my emotions. Not actively. My emotions were all I had to rely on. I have only this year realised that an ignored part of me has been in charge of me for all my 34 years so far. And that scared, ignored little girl was looking for parents that she no longer has, such is the passage of time.

The major thing that this year has taught me about life is that I, me, Jo, deserve to be in my own corner. One of the loneliest places in the world to be is with the voice in your own head, when that voice has learnt, habitually, that you are broken, wrong and hateful.

The realisation to the contrary has not been easy. I have been in therapy for years now and have no intention of letting up. I am learning so much about myself and am a firm believer that therapy exists to nurture yourself in good times and bad. If you’re not headed into the counsellig room until you’re drowning in the weight of multiple crises as I was, then you’ve left it too late. You deserved more.

So do I.

I have gotten better at being on my own. I used to hate being left alone and I always took it as an affront. Now I look forward to time alone for writing projects like this, or my daily journal, or my inner child workbook. Nothing makes me feel more productive than sitting with a stack of notebooks and pens as I have done today, serving my soul and my understanding of myself.

Recently though, maybe with the change of seasons, the return to school, I have been feeling anxious, overwhelmed. These are familiar, regular feelings but I am always in fear of them, worrying they are going to drag me backwards, undo some of my work for positive change.

I am also a self-confessed germophobe. I hate winter for the constant risk and cycle of chest infections and snotty noses. I always have one if not two bottles of hand sanitiser in my bag and I send the girls to wash their hands every time they sneeze. I am more worried about germs since Kev’s IBD diagnosis because his immune system is suppressed by his prescribed meds. Gabby has bought a cold back from nursery already and it has charged through Kev’s system. It’s still just a cold, he’s fine but I am constantly on edge, wondering if it’ll stay that way or whether we’ll end up back in hospital. Will he get pneumonia etc? Yes, I’m extra, but it is because I care. I overmothered my grown ass husband and he pointed this out. I stomped off and came back from the school run in tears, admitting to my extraness…. out of fear.

But Kev was kind. He knew I was scared, he knew what of and he thanked me for loving him enough to mother him, even if it wasn’t the best option for us.

That school run though, I was holding back tears, holding Squidge’s hand. I wanted to say nothing, but she knew something has upset me and I am wholly committed to always being (age appropriately) truthful with my children. I explained to her that I had upset Daddy by not trusting him enough to look after his cold properly. I told her he was right to be upset and trust is important but Mummy was scared of the germs because Daddy’s “army” has less to fight germs with and I don’t feel good when I have to look after our family alone.

“I’m not good at being “double” Mummy.” I told her. “Daddy being poorly scares Mummy and when we try to hide feeling scared, we can get angry instead.”

“Those are such big feelings.” my 6 year old said empathetically.

Damn, she’s right. They really are. And they are what gave her adult Mummy the courage to go back and apologise to her dad, to adult. What incredible motivations kids are.

I have been hiding from a lot of feelings this last week. I’ve let time pass without addressing them, which I know from experience is never good.

Today, I have been gifted a day on my own with my notebooks. I have meditated and written down the long list of things that are troubling me right now. Niggles mostly, but still a long list.

My weight, my time management, how I am reacting to the girls’ behaviour, the ongoing pain in my shoulders and feet, needing to understand my body as a disabled woman, to feel like a capable, competent woman connected with my world and my new situation (e.g. afternoon nursery runs, potentially volunteering), wondering if I’m good enough to meet it all or keep it all going….

I waited for the age old onslaught of poison in my ear. After all, my inner monologue has turned on me for years. I started to cry as I waited for it, already cowering as if all my efforts to drive positive changes in my life were about to crash down to nothing.

Instead, the voice in my head said: You’re dealing with a lot right now. It’s OK to feel like it’s a lot. Crying is good. The feeling won’t stay. Cry. Cry. You’ll be OK here.

34 years old and I finally believed in the self compassion I was hearing. I can make change. I’ve been doing it all year. Reaching out to old friends, new friends, new physical challenges (walking every day), new knowledge (reading every day, learning Italian). So what if it can’t all be made at once? Because I know, if my old hateful voice had heard of anyone else committing resolutely to all the changes, new experiences and self care that I have this year, I would be impressed. I cannot just continue to claim that I am not doing enough simply because that is familiar. Because I have finally done enough to show myself that I can be safe here, that I can grow and change for the better.

So, so what if I’m back losing the same stone again? I did it before, in a time when I didn’t even know, or care to recognise that my mental health was in absolute crisis. I wonder now if it came from a need to control something that, being physical and visible, I could no longer deny, unlike that which lay unaddressed in my head. Now that my mental health is in (my own) hand, I question whether that’s why my physical health has gone unchecked. I could undeniably make better choices, but there is the crux. I am aware enough now to see that this might well be my inner child’s last stand, her last vestige of control. She knows I can be trusted emotionally more now and what child doesn’t want to be jacked up on sugar and E numbers?

Because now, we are no longer living at war, we need to work now on staying friends, on knowing we can trust each other. But exactly that takes me to be the adult, the present parent, which means me, laying boundaries with myself, my body, that myself has never known to expect before. Because now, we need to work to find the balance between taking good ongoing care of my mental health, at a level that isn’t so intense that there’s no room to take physical care of myself too.

But for the first time, I can see I am on my own side. I have my own back. I am safe on my own. I wonder how many people are aware enough, brave enough to allow themselves that same space. Be your own friend. You deserve that. I wish I had known it about myself years ago. I could have done so much more.

Nevertheless, I can see now, I am enough. I can’t wait to see where I go now. Because I won’t be alone.