Relapse Duly Arrived

A lovely mum played with Sofia at the toddler group today.. She kept hauling her up to the top of the slide, and swooping her down, again and again. Sofia was obliging if bemused as she’s just proudly learned to climb to the top of the slide by herself. All I could do was smile from my chair across the other side of the room, Try to convey a hundred unspeakable things in one big beam:

"I’m not a wierdo, really. There’s a reason why I’m not playing with my daughter, and not reciprocating your friendliness. I’d kill to be all hands on with your little girl too. Honestly, I’m not depressed and disconnected; I’m not too posh to play. You wouldn’t understand, but every megabyte of my energy has gone in the few steps from the car to this seat. And now I need to stay in standby mode: glued to this chair, preferably with my head resting on the wall behind, to avoid crashing before I get home."

It was a toss up whether to come with Mum and Sofia today or not. A familiar dilemna. Drag myself in all my wobbly breathlessness to a scenario where I’m on the verge on non-functioning for an hour or so, just to pre-empt the creeping claustrophobia of relapse?. Just to get a dose of being in the world to last me the week.? Or surrender to the sofa. The four walls. Avoid the hurt of fast-paced normality; the frustration of my tongue-tied conversation; and my ugly shame at being chaperoned by my mother when I’m the one supposed to be doing the mummying.?

I could so easily have relinquished my 12 year struggle to get out more today. That exiled feeling is nothing new. But I’m glad I went. I watched Sofia in action amongst other cute children. That other mum smiled back, apparently unfazed by my inertia. And anyway, there’ll be days over the next few weeks and months when I won’t able to do even this. So it makes sense to keep up the struggle while I can.