Stuck.

The ache of standing still.

Yesterday I put Elliot down for his morning nap and came downstairs. I then went into nap paralysis. This is where you have so many things you want to do while they baby sleeps that you don’t know where to begin and so, in my case, you doom scroll spoilers for Wicked For Good.

Paralysis turned into overwhelm. There were all the things I wanted to do; writing, meditating, very light stretching and there were all the things that needed to be done; washing up the stuff from breakfast, putting the washing away, making the beds and moving piles of newborn baby clothes around in the hope they’ll rehome themselves.

But I sat on my phone, staring at it for answers. I was so anxious that I couldn’t choose which meditation to do. And what about those affirmations? That weight loss practice that’s only 9 minutes a day? My at home treadmill walk? Too many options, too many avenues, better to just watch people lipsyncing to Popular.

The truth is, it isn’t just the nap. I am in a paralysis. I am in a waiting room waiting for my name to be called. I am stuck.

Elliot is almost one and my maternity, once again, is over. I could go on having babies forever. Have a whole wheelbarrow full of them. Be the old lady who lived in the shoe. I’m good at having babies, I like them and they like me. I like my midwife appointments, I have my maternity clothes. I’m a joy in the birth centre and I eat up all my NHS jacket potatoes.

But having another baby would be running away. Back to the safety of the nest where it’s nice and warm and I can hide. My identity would be ‘she’s pregnant again,’ and I won’t be expected to do anything, other than look after my other three children and rest. And you can’t have another baby just to have a rest.

So the question is, what am I going to do? What am I going to do with my one wild and precious life? What is my purpose, my thing? And just how is it going to make me an income? These questions haunt me. They paralyse me. Because I don’t have the answers.

me, elliot and my cold sore

Every waking minute I am wondering what my calling is. I agonise over what my purpose could be. I look at other people and wonder if I could do their job and if they’re happy. I go through worry, fear, despair and back again. I crawl on my hands and knees asking what do I love? What am I good at? What would people pay me to do?!

Then I remember no good will come of this. This isn’t the energy. I think of Louise Hay praying for highest good for all. I remember everything Gabby Bernstein and Glennon Doyle have taught me about knowing and trusting. I remind myself there are only two states of being, fear or love. Well let me tell you, I am sick of fear.

I am so tired of worrying about what’s coming next, I’m exhausted with trying to figure it out. I have spent hours, days, months, maybe even years waiting to find out what I am meant to be doing. People say all the answers are within us. Where within us? Could they be more specific?

I walked through the park on Sunday and watched the light coming through the trees. It was a perfect Autumn afternoon. I was walking home to my babies, I had cookies, there were no problems here. Then I felt it the swirl within me, the fear. The not knowing. The searching. It swept in to steal the joy of the moment and remind me, don’t get comfortable now, you still haven’t figured out what you’re going to do with your life. I’d had enough. The pressure I too great and I snapped. I declared ‘I am DONE WITH THIS! I am done with being fearful. I have HAD it. I am handing it over, I surrender!’ and I meant it. It felt great. It felt big.

It carried on feeling amazing for about 4 hours until the fear dropped back in. Turns out years of worry can’t be turned round in just one declaration in the park but we have to start somewhere. This is going to be a big ship to turn around but I have to do it. I have to keep coming back to love and trust that the path will become clear. Even if it feels awful while I wait. And wait. And wait.

I had edited half a video and made toast when Elliot woke up. We rattled around the house together. Me trying to do stuff on my phone then feeling awful for being on my phone. I felt the deep fear and despair weighing heavy on me and it scrambled my mind. I couldn’t work out what to do next. The piles of clothes lay around, the lego was everywhere, the kitchen was a mess. I shoved Elliot into the buggy and grabbed my keys. I rushed us out of the door and up the road telling myself buying cake would help.

I saw a neighbour who said ‘hello, you alright?’ So hard to answer, am I alright? I mean I am but I’m also welcoming divine guidance to help me find my purpose, you know? ‘yeah! we’re good!’ I said ‘are you?’ He was. We’re all very good.

I got to the top of the road and realised neither Elliot or I had eaten lunch. It was hotter than I thought and my cardigan was too warm. Elliot squinted in the sun. I sank into myself, I can’t even get the baby some daylight. Thoughts started tumbling, I’m a failure, what I am I doing? But also, what am I DOING? I inhaled deeply through my nose and pushed the air out through my lips. Twice. I remembered, I am not my thoughts. I am the deeper sense of calm and clarity. I am the all knowing self. I am the declaration in the park. I am the blue sky, the thoughts are the clouds.

I said to myself, as Glinda does to Elphaba, “you can do anything.”

I turned on my heel and walked us home. Past the neighbour I’d just seen and back in through the front door. Elliot laughed at the buggy coming up the step. I plonked him in the highchair and fed him berries and yogurt and oats. Breakfast for lunch. He kicked his legs. I put on songs from the musicals and I washed up. I wiped down the kitchen and put the lego away. I reset, I started again. I came home to myself. And that is how I’m going to pull myself through this. Because it’s not how many times you fall off, it’s how quickly you can come back.