Next Steps?

Next Steps?

 

Back in Dublin and I decide on one final blog. I am aware of that familiar mix of irritation at having to unpack the bags, sort a load of washing and stock the fridge from scratch, whilst also being delighted to be home, to see and hug my kids (much to their horror) and collapse into my own lovely big bed. There is never anywhere quite as lovely as your own bed, is there?

During my heart-in-little-bits phase, Paddy got into the habit of sleeping in my bed again. He was late leaving it I guess, as was Ella, and both were frequent night visitors until they were nine or ten,  but after Yer Man left, Paddy began coming into me in the middle of the night again. I welcomed his warm little body and the sound of his breathing, and found his presence hugely calming. After a few weeks, he stopped even pretending that he was going into his own room and just headed straight for mine, with his cheeky glint and smile, knowing he was probably a bit too old for this lark but also totally confident that I wouldn’t kick him out!  We are all back in our own beds these days apart from the dog, who followed Paddy’s example and began to snuffle his way beneath the duvet to sleep on my feet. He still does.

I’ve never known what motivated Paddy’s sleeping habits – was he acutely conscious of how low and sad I was and wanted to comfort me? I certainly explained some of how I felt to them and even got a few spontaneous hugs from Ella as a result. Did he simply see an opportunity for a bit of attention and comfort for himself? Or was his strategy about ensuring Yer Man didn’t come back? The only time I ever managed to have any meaningful discussion with him he said ‘I just don’t want you to be sad again’.  My gorgeous wonderful children.

Next week I have my first lesson in WordPress, arranged some time ago so I can set up and run my own website/ blog. This is on my list of things to do in my fiftieth year, and I have assiduously kept my commitment to doing something new every month of the year.

The last few days have helped me get over the idea that a blog is an entirely narcissistic thing to do and that actually, some people might enjoy reading what I have to say. Plus I’ve really enjoyed doing it!

Of course I hope to share my thoughts on more than just my disastrous relationship. I don’t think I’m going to be travelling again with Miriam any time soon, so all the material she provides so unwittingly is largely off limits; I am well aware that children are generally of absolutely no interest to anyone except their parents, and only then on a good day so I don’t anticipate them taking centre stage; I’m no self help guru but I’m equally not going to sink to the depths of Bridget Jones and her calorie counting antics. I’ve enjoyed writing and loved the feedback. I have no idea if there’s more left in me or if this was a once off, but I’d like to give it a try. All comments, suggestions and ideas welcome!

If there is a marketing plan out there with a significant budget attached, myself and Miriam are open to proposals. We would have no qualms about doing product placement for virtually anything, given that we both lack morals of any kind, but we might draw the line at, well, nothing actually. See, no morals!  We can guarantee laughter and insight; reflection and fun, and best of all, it would be absolutely honest and totally real.

Thank you so much for sharing my journey. You will never know how touched I have been to see the likes and comments. It’s also enabled me to re engage with some people I haven’t seen or heard from in a long time, and to make contact with many people I have never met. At the end of the day, we all feel similar things and we have far more in common with each other than difference. Your comments have affirmed that for me and if I have managed to tap into something of import for you, or share an emotion with which you can relate, or make you laugh or cry, I am grateful for the honour of being able to touch your heart or your funny bone. And of course, a very special thanks to Miriam Donoghue without whom this trip would never have happened. Anyone else would have responded to my exposed arse quite differently on that first day, and then, well, this would have been a whole other story.