I’m the type of woman who packs my family’s suitcases for a vacation, six weeks out from actually travelling. Even though it seemingly causes more hassle than good. Even though it annoys everyone immensely for weeks on end as they hunt for clothes I’ve already packed. Even though I’ll most likely re jig and repack all over again before we leave.
I’m the type of woman that can’t handle mess.
Toys scattered over the lounge floor cause an uneasy stomach and tight chest. At the end of each day I find it therapeutic to spend fifteen minutes putting everything back in it’s rightful place.
Just so I can breathe freely again once more.
I’m the type of woman that would rather sit in my car waiting half an hour for an appointment than to risk being late. I won’t even admit to how early we have to be checked in at the airport to calm my nerves.
I’m the type of woman that majority of the time,
has a magazine worthy house.
Not for vanity, purely for my sanity.
It doesn’t mean there isn’t mess occasionally.
It doesn’t mean we don’t create memories.
But it does mean I clean, I organise, I rearrange
and then agonise when the kids return home and be just that. Kids.
I’m the type of woman who has to know my world is sorted at all times. I crave control of any given situation and struggle when I don’t have just that.
Because what everyone fails to comprehend, is that it calms my mind, slows my heart and reduces my worry when all aspects of my life are organised.
Because this is how my anxiety manifests.
This is how my brain is wired. It’s not the end
of the world, but it certainly isn’t ideal either.
I worry that my worry will in turn cause my
children to learn such a regimented existence.
But this is how life has to be.
This is my coping mechanism.
I may not be the ‘fun’ Mum.
I’m definitely not the spontaneous Mum.
But I love them fiercely with my entire being.
And that makes me a great Mother.