25/11/2013 15:05 GMT | Updated 22/05/2015 10:12 BST

Self Portrait Of A Mother

Time. Again that silent spectre creeps up on me while I'm not looking, wrapping its long, prying tendrils of history around my fading memories. This time it brings with it a birthday for two. A boy and a girl now the tender age of two years and I then see time slipping away from me with a smirk and a tip of its hat.


At least that's what we're told - that as we age and grow with the years, we take on the shape and form of the person who gave birth to us. We use her expressions, say the things she used to say to us and over time, we sometimes even behave like she did.

Is that the natural order of things? No matter how hard we try to do things differently, we take on the teachings of our mother and her mother before, carrying on the legacy of so many other mothers previous and diligently passing it on?


This is a self portrait. The unedited version in close-up detail. No airbrushing, no tweaking, no hiding of blemishes. The true and realistic blue-print of the person behind the screen.

This is the person I see when I look in the mirror. Once upon a time her eyes may have been a bright, ice-like blue. Now they mimic the tones of a grey, over-cast morning or an ocean at storm, clouded by experience and devoid of their vibrancy.

This is the person who hides behind the formation of words because the world is a frightening place in which one is easily tongue-tied. When she speaks the formation isn't as elegant - phrases stumbles over each other unable to keep up with the pace of the mind which created them. Think quicker than she can speak has always been her downfall, leading her to not speak much at all.

This is the woman who acts as the glue that keeps her family together. Diligently and silently she plays the role each time a crack appears, much of the time unnoticed like an invisible form flitting from room to room. She keeps the roof over their heads and the food on the table. She cleans and cooks, comforts and cares. She's a diplomat who mediates when disagreements arise, a voice of reason and a shoulder to cry one. She's accountant, banker, tinker and tailor, nurse, teacher, playmate and healer.

She's a business woman with her head screwed on, who works solidly when everyone sleeps, adding hours to the day that don't really exist. Early riser and night owl combined, she makes life work seamlessly for the good of her tribe.


When my head hits the pillow and my eyes begin to close, I cry. I cry because there's nothing else - I let the tears roll out and my body heave because there's no other way of relieving the pressure. It's an unwavering tide full of grief and stress and the deep, aching desire for peace.

And my thoughts turn to the mother before me and I wonder, was this what she did too?

Stacey started blogging to try and regain a little bit of sanity and isn't entirely sure if it's worked. She has three children, a significant other and a lot on her hands. They're full stocked, raring to go and prepared for all adventures, including the Zombie Apocalypse!

Blogs at: Five's a Fellowship
Twitter: @SJ_Corrin