Letters to my daughters (December): REST

My darling girls,

Thank you.

Thank you for being so patient with me, and so good with your dad, as I recover from COVID. You’ve been understanding and sweet and that is all part of the equation when someone is poorly in a family – that subtly balanced ecosystem of wants and needs disrupted and worked around. Thank you for playing your part.

Being able to rest has been a privilege – I’m not going to lie. Being banished to the attic room and left to recover, out of the way of the day-to-day rumble, has been a bit of a pleasure, if I’m honest.

Needing to rest made me think about the need for rest. And it made me think about privacy and space and the often overlooked and seemingly unstoppable pace of family life. My goodness we do a lot! How we’re ON all the time – doing, making, playing, arguing, planning, cooking, cleaning, tidying, working, reading, on, on, on, doing, doing, doing.

And we’re even a family who knows how to curl up on the sofa for some good old-fashioned TV! It seems knowing how to rest and restore our energy is something we need to learn these days – rather than it being a natural and permissible part of the cycle of existence.

The culture of always being ON means that we have to justify and explain the switching OFF, which at this time of the year, really is the ideal. We are not designed to hibernate like other mammals but every year I look forward to the extra blankets, the layers of woollens and the two-sock strategy. It’s a kind of hibernation – just one that requires me to keep getting up and going to work and school with the same energy and gusto as during the rest of the year.

It seems a bit brutal, that’s what my COVID stint taught me. It seems brutal for the world to expect the same from me in December as in June. Bonkers, in fact! But these are cultural norms I am fighting against, whilst my body simultaneously fights the urges to do less – in fact, as little as possible. Got to. Keep. Going.

No wonder your Granny Bel, finding herself a single mother of 3 girls (the eldest approaching puberty) was exhausted to the point of depressive tendencies, even madness at times. No wonder she struggled to keep on top of things. She did, just, but you could see it taking its toll, day by day, grey hair by grey hair.

In fact, I am seeing Mum with fresh eyes now, as the demands of working parenthood seemingly increase and become more complex. Doing so much for her children, without the support of our Dad, was more than most could hold, really. No wonder she managed it all by being a little distant, buzzing on caffine. I’m learning to forgive her for that now.

But I am torn. I don’t want you to know how relentlessly hard work it is being your mother; you’re too young to carry that. I sometimes say, ‘being a mum is really hard work!’ as a way to excuse my exasperation or snappiness. And then you retort back ‘well you shouldn’t have had me then!’ Or worse, apologise. Gulp.

I’m torn because at some point, when you’re ready, you’re going to need to see that this thing called family life, that carefully balanced equation, is difficult to get right. It is difficult to keep all the cogs moving, at the right speed, with the right links, all in the right direction. Sadly, it’s one of those important lessons in life that you can only learn by doing.

It’s only when you have a gap – albeit recovering from COVID – that you begin to see how demanding being a parent is. And it’s not the moment-to-moment action – because we all know the telly goes on far too often in this house. Instead, it’s the fact that you are tuned in to ‘parent mode’ 24/7 and that can often leave little space for any other identity to break through.

It’s the most rewarded and fulfilled I have ever felt in my life – but parenting requires rest, so we can replenish the stocks, recharge the batteries, and fill up our tanks again. I don’t know how some mothers do it, especially those parenting on their own. It makes me respect (and want to commiserate with) Granny Bel more and more. I wish I could say Thank You to her, too.

And I’m not complaining. (I know it sounds quite a lot like I am.) But in fact I have learned more about myself (and what I can do) in the last 8 years than in the previous 38. I have learned I am more patient than I thought, and kinder, and more able to roll with the punches in difficult times. And I am fundamentally a better person for being a mother: less selfish, less neurotic, and happier. You do make me very, very happy. Complete, in fact.

But there are beasts and creatures from of my old life that I miss, and I’m currently on a quest to find and reintroduce them into my wilds. I hope one day you’ll witness me as a women who is determined, unafraid of that hard work I am describing above. But I hope you’ll also begin to see more of Alice, not just your mother, who also needs some time and space and oxygen. COVID reminded me of her, too.

I hope that there will be a new equation emerging as you both begin to meet your own needs more often – an equation where rest and peace is as valuable as graft and grit; where I am your present mother at times, and at other times someone who knows they thrive with privacy and creative expression. Watch. This. Space, my darlings.

Next year, I am determined to reclaim some time and space for my music making – and I hope you’ll learn to love that need in me, not resent me for it. It will probably take me away from you, and I’ll appear distant when you might want me close. But I hope, in time, the balance of our family life will be able to hold all our needs, a gently rolling roster of coming in, going out: the ebb and flow of need and connection and space.

If there is any culture I want to instil in you both, it is one of feeling into what fulfils you most – where you can feel most alive and energised. Achieving that might include as much ON as OFF, as much being IN as being OUT. So take the moments of rest as well as the surges of energy. You’ll need both.

Now can we go and get cosy on the sofa please? It’s time to be more dormouse and cuddle up against the cold and the dark outside. 

From, your loving Mother/Alice