The Weight (and I don’t mean the song by The Band) 

Some weeks everything weighs heavy and little by little additional pounds (or kilograms if you prefer metric) get added on. 

This week has seen many happenings. We survived another challenging weekend. Small person has developed a cough of doom which necessitated a day at home whilst Nana was away and on a day where I’d slept so badly I’d reawakened a very old shoulder injury so I spent the day feeling like I had shooting pains down my arm. Small person went back to school the next day while I attended therapeutic parenting group as the only single adopter and the post adoption support worker assigned to complete our assessment came to meet small person. In between those two draining experiences I tidied, hoovered and cleaned the house. Sleep has been sporadic this week and interrupted by coughs. The next morning we had no regulation at all and by the time small person went to school there had been strangling, biting and we had a higher water bill due to the putting taps on and running away. 

Unsurprisingly all of these events increased the weight I carry, the weight of small person’s trauma is already heavy. At the end of the week I have felt like Atlas, the weight of the world on my shoulders. This leads to bleak tears and hyperventilating on the sofa, the crushing feeling that nothing I do is right or good enough. It feels like trauma is winning. 

Then it happens. Small person has a super day at school. I take them to the doctor about the ‘bad coughs’ and the doctor reassures me that it’s just a viral cough. Not bronchitis or plague or any of my brain’s 2am worries. Lovely friends and Nana remind me I’m not rubbish I’m just overwhelmed this week. And lo some of the weight is lifted and the skies clear. 


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