We have reached an impasse.
There is only so much more time I can spend with my children alone before I lose my mind.
Every few months I start to feel antsy, and crave a life beyond the boys, where I reclaim my career and enjoy a few quiet days working on something I love (other than them). Until now, that feeling has been stuffed back down from whence it came, smoothed over by the part-time work I do from home, and the creative joy I get from it.
This time, the beast has awoken with a ferocious appetite, that no amount of writing while batting away tiny hands can sate. I want to go back to work. Not just that. I want to go back to the career I loved so much.
The kids are getting bigger, and Matthew is starting playschool this week, so that’s probably where all this is coming from, but it is INTENSE. I want to reclaim myself. I want to feel the exhilaration that only a day working in the fast-paced environment of a publishing house can give me. I want to feel like I am going to wee myself with fear as I wait for something to come back from the printers, and then I want to literally flop with relief when it is as fabulous as I remembered.
It’s time to regroup, it’s time to reform, and it’s time to set some intentions for the future. My boys don’t need me half as much as they used to, and I have realised that I am not able to commit the rest of my life to being with them twenty four hours a day. I don’t want the dusty magazines in my wardrobe to be the sum total of my career; I want more. And so I’m putting it out there, with great intention, and ambition to beat the band. I am coming back.
I just hope the world is ready to receive me.