When our ‘normal’ feels very far from normal - life after domestic abuse.

I always say this won’t define us, and it’s true. But then I realise I am still very far away from normal, well not the normal that surrounds me. Sometimes I can’t help but compare to friends, and the differences feel very stark; what we have lost hits me and it seems so much I can’t quite take it in.

I take in my stride for the main sole single parenting, and the don’t be a hero attitude keeps me sane. However, as my eldest is soon to come into her GCSE year, and with a 45% average school attendance, she has so far got a 1 and a 3 in her mocks. She’s clever - she should be getting 7s at least. But how can she catch up when trauma therapy, exhaustion, and poor attendance shape her days? She is still in trauma therapy; I don’t have the headspace to tutor her, as it takes all my energy getting her into school for those few hours she manages. 

My energy for these things has dissipated; it’s as if all of those concentrated Court years and fatigue have drained my parent tutoring and fun gene (Covid as well has a part to play), particularly with her (and my ADHD). I used to take them to National Trusts at the weekend, throw myself into baking with them on a whim, but I am drained.

This week, I discovered my youngest had hidden kitchen knives and a vape in her bedside drawer. Small cuts on her arms. As puberty hits, so it appears does the trauma (not that it has ever left), the knowledge and probable social media education to self-harm.

We aren’t normal, but we have a lot: our LID (loving integrated dysfunction) open household where the door is always open, friends who know they can always drop in - and the bond between my daughters and I is so incredibly strong. 

As I navigate the prospect of unemployment, I am veering myself away from panic with nature bathing, introspection, and a focus on what I have got. But some weeks I balance that tightrope with a fine balance. I know my children need a mother who is more present, who can help with homework and is not distracted by work, but when the financial responsibility rests on you, that always has to be the most important.

I know I am very fortunate; I have a career. I imagine those that find themselves in this position without it, and I can’t imagine how much tougher it is financially and emotionally. For me, work is my sanity; it gives me respite from the constant worry at home (unless I work with someone like the evil woman that I do now).

I am feeling it all now.  I’m not disassociating through client work or urgent deadlines, but observing how I am.  Letting myself recover from the reign of the workplace bully, giving myself time to recuperate and absorb. It’s hard to sit with it, but I am.