Swapping the Brangelina fantasy for cage-less-ness
Written on February 5, 2010 at 5:57 pm
How did my life become this?
How does she do it? She being any number of successful women in the media/ Hollywood/ CEO positions who seemingly effortlessly juggle incredibly successful careers, perfect snot-less toddlers, a body you can capture on high res photography in a bikini and smile at and an Aston Martin? Forget her ‘secret’, I want her life!
I’m not stupid. I get that her success buys her a tribe of people who scrub her kitchen drawers and remove the mouldy zucchini for her, as well as fold her laundry while she’s signing contracts over a latte. I get that she has a personal trainer, and an industry that at worst incentivizes her to look great and at best picks up the tab for it.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, in my surgery, I see the real woman who wants it all and has no chance. What she does have is a mortgage that’s hobbling her. She also has kids that are exhausted after day care or school and each want her undivided attention while they bore her to tears with a detailed log of their activities (between bouts of tears). She has a lounge room that more closely resembles the local tip than the Vogue Living magazine she’s been looking at wistfully. She has the best intentions of doing the laundry, but falls into an exhausted heap on her bed fully clothed at 10pm crippled by guilt; guilt that she’s too tired for sex. Guilt that she snaps at her husband whenever they talk about it. Guilt that she finds the kids boring rather than endlessly cute and incredible like every other woman she talks to. Guilt that her housekeeping skills leave her mother tutting in disbelief whenever she comes over- which is rarely. Guilt that the gym membership that she can’t cede defeat on remains unused for the fourth month in a row.
When I see her she is becoming anxious or depressed or both. Her blood pressure is starting to creep up. She’s putting on weight and blood tests are starting to look slightly less pearly than they did five years ago.
This rat-in-a-cage phase doesn’t end when the last child goes to school, or when they’ve had a holiday or when she gets a promotion. It just continuously morphs into another form that deftly manages to replace one stress with another.
There’s always an excuse for not changing stuff because change is hard. But I always ask; how are you not going to be here in three years? Or even five?
My tips;
- Murder the martyr. Does your hubby do a crap job of the ironing? I call that a better option than you doing it. So I’d say ‘Thanks so much, that’s a great help.’
- Trim the excess. What in your day is unnecessary? For example pegging out socks and underpants is TIME CONSUMING. Now is not the time to put the environment before you. Use your drier.
- Vitamin S. (Sex). Not a charity bonk. Because when words are too hard, having an orgasm together is about as intimate and as pleasurable an experience as you can have. This is a reward for you.
- Road runner. For now, sacrifice 20 minutes of sleep in the morning and get out and burn some energy as you see the world waking up. I prefer walking or running on the road in your environment, under the sun, the rain, past trees, flowers, dogs and other things that make you smile. Good way to avoid or manage depression and anxiety.
- Wunder kids. Even the youngest tot does not benefit from being waited on by anyone- least of all a stressed out mum who feels like an undervalued minion. Get them off the couch and into the kitchen/ laundry etc. Then reward them with your time. Yeah you might have to listen to a blow by blow account of who kicked the ball to whom over lunch time.
Enjoy your cage-less-ness x
