Sometimes...you hit a wall.
Maybe you can't decide if it's shorts weather. Perhaps there's a gift to be bought but you'll be buggered if you have any ideas. Did you make a New Year's resolution to blog every day and don't know what to say one week in?
Or maybe it's your life.
Maybe you're speeding towards that wall with no idea how to avoid it. You can't even be certain where it is. It's somewhere up ahead - you can definitely make it out - but there's no knowing how long you have before you go hurtling into it. That's where I am. And it's scary.
I had a baby - as you do - in June 2012. I took my maternity leave with the intention of returning to the job I thrived in, the people I loved working with and the clients I'd forged relationships with. Yes, I was looking forward to the break - I think I needed to step off the wheel for a while (and onto that of sharing life with a newborn again - hardly a rest!) ;) It was a tough thing to do in so many ways, especially in an environment where things changed so much and so quickly - Who would have gone by the time I came back? What new projects would have been created? Would there be a new position for me?
I will never forget the intense feeling of loss that lasted for many months when the company closed the office. It wasn't the fact that I found out on Facebook that hurt me the most. It wasn't the fact that my only chance of returning would be to accept a role at the head office and subject myself and my family to at least four hours travelling per day. It wasn't, therefore, the weeks of inevitable negotiation of my redundancy terms. It was gone. Our office - our team - the heartbeat of the whole company - the people - the silly traditions - gone. There was nothing that could be done to bring any of that back. Moving to another office - as some had done - wasn't going to be anywhere near the same. There was nothing I could do about it. The announcement was made on a Friday afternoon, effective Monday morning. Done.
It may seem melodramatic to assimilate an office closure with a death. But that's just what it felt like. There are seven stages of grief and that is what I went through. I didn't realise at the time, but it is so clear to me now.
I was in shock for such a long time. There was no Denial phase for me - it was definitely done and dusted and I knew that straight away. But it took months before I got angry. And once I did, it didn't last very long. Then there were tears. And eventually...it was over.
I went on to have another baby - at 35 there didn't seem much sense in finding a new job, settling in again, carving a career for myself, building a reputation, forging relationships and then putting it all on hold for maternity leave again.
Truth be told - I just wasn't ready to look for another job. The idea of working somewhere else seemed entirely implausible. I knew nothing would measure up to what I'd had before. I still carried a torch that I wasn't yet ready to cast aside.
So here I am.
The baby is now nine months old and racing towards that point where he will rely far less on me for sustenance, care and comfort. In just a few months he will be supping cow's milk and my feeding will be no more than a comforting habit and little snack, no doubt. There will be far less holding me back.
What am I going to do then? Unfortunately being a stay-at-home mum doesn't pay well enough for my liking. As a household, we really could use another income. As an individual, I need something else to challenge me. Not that my three children aren't a challenge - far from it - but I'm just not good enough to face that same challenge every day!
I'm still not convinced I'm ready to extinguish that flame that still flickers inside me. Maybe I never will be. Perhaps I could start my own business instead. But what would I do? Yes, the possibilities are limitless but with that comes a total lack of direction. And that's assuming I can find the time and discipline I would need to try working for myself and looking after the children.
I don't know exactly where that wall is...but I know I'm heading for it. Will it break me in to a thousand pieces? Or will it me the making of me somehow?
I wish I knew.
