Last week I had 7 days of flat drama dealing with a broken boiler, leaking radiators, my windows very much proving their age and a my lounge ceiling collapsing wildly onto my wooden floor at 2am as a result of some dodgy plumbing in the flat above. Oh and the lovely sofa I had excitedly waited 8 weeks for finally arrived - and then had to be sent back as it wouldn't fit through the door!
Sad news this week of two City bankers who committed suicide, both in the prime of their lives. We have all visited that dark place where we have contemplated whether life continues to be worth living. Just this week, a friend send me a plaintive message that read something like this: 'life, job, love, all suck'.
Being home with my son was a battle. A battle against the wolf. That wolf lurked and lingered. It undermined me and my choices. I watched it circle the house as it watched me feed the baby. "You don't know what you're doing". "You call yourself a mother." The taunts were piercing. I was shattering a little more each time.
Let's be brutally honest; becoming a caregiver is without doubt a job nobody in their right mind asks for, wants or expects. Suddenly a person can find themselves in the position of having to take care of an ageing parent or spouse. The hours are long; constant tiresome challenges, no vacation, it is a 24/7 job.