This post has touched such a raw place in my heart because I fully, and unequivocally understand @SoFuckingTired and all the other mum/parents who feel this way.
Currently I can hear my beautiful 3 year old playing. It makes my heart soar with joy incomparable in my life. When he tells me I am his favourite, and he loves me, and when he's polite and kind, I've never known anything more wonderful. Sometimes I lay next to him at night and watch him sleep and I can feel that immeasurable contentment.
However - I struggle as a mum. I'm a natural introvert. I can't stand long periods of loud noises, too much company and constantly being on the go with menial tasks. Which is basically a description of motherhood. I didn't realise this before I had my son because quite simply, I'd never been in a situation where I was surrounded endlessly with children or the variables that make my teeth itch. I was mostly single, working hard, enjoying my own money and time. During that period I was desperate for something more - a meaning to my life, but I wasn't sold on the idea of having children at all.
It wasn't until I met my now ex DP where I considered it. I had two years of being a stepparent before falling pregnant. I loved every aspect of being a de facto parent (and frankly, I did far more of the share of parenting my DSS than my ex, which should have been a red flag) and I loved (and still love) my DSS immensely. I suddenly found a purpose and thought I'd definitely be equipped at being a parent, finally, at 30. I lost a baby, and that made my incurable need even stronger.
Then I fell pregnant and had a horrible pregnancy. My ex was already showing signs of not being the person I thought he was. I was alone again. I didn't really engage with many of the things pregnant women do (NCT etc). I retreated. My anxiety which had been dormant for years resurfaced. When my son was born I was scared shitless. I suddenly (and this mystifies me to this day, because I'm not what I consider to be naive) couldn't think why I'd done this. The responsibility was crushing.
I barely managed the first year. I was still with my ex but he was of no practical or emotional use and his abuse typically got worse. I didn't have any help. I muddled by, with post natal anxiety and OCD. I loved my son beyond belief but I missed my old life like a poisoned chalice round my neck. I went back to work when he was 11 months old to try and cure the void I felt. It didn't work - I just became more and more anxious, more and more tired, more and more fretful under the weight of the mental load.
I ended up having a huge mental breakdown last year. My anxiety was so bad I was nearly institutionalised as I was suicidal and unable to cope with the most basic of tasks. I felt such a crushing weight of responsibility that I'd let my son down. Me and my ex split because he 'couldn't cope' with me. Our relationship was behind salvageable. My son seemed to prefer my ex. I felt all Hope was lost and I should have never become a parent.
Fast forward to now - I had therapy and medical intervention. I quit work and did the thing that caused me the most stress - became a parent full time. I couldn't hide from it. I needed to become the parent I wanted to be. I get things wrong all the time. I have days where I hate it. I have days where I cry about the life I left behind, the relationship I loved, the friendships that have fallen, the job I was so good at. Sometimes I just want to throw my son up into the air and let him fall back down in a couple of hours so I can breathe. He's become predictably more clingy and needy of me, and whilst it stresses me out on the days where I need space, I secretly now love that. I love that he cuddles up to me in bed. I am desperate for a nights sleep uninterrupted but I can't begin to imagine him not in the bed now.
I'm crying as I write this. I never ever thought I could be this parent. I'm sorry for the length of this, and the stream of consciousness. But I absolutely feel this on so many levels.