I’m an artist first, a mother second.
I picked up a part time job, my art is currently not making me money, in the slightest, and I’m okay with that, because I got a job. It’s a terrible thing to mention the ‘M’ word, especially when it comes to something we as humans are meant to be passionate about, money shouldn’t be our driving force; it should be something that is done out of love and skill — and my art is something that was born out of those things, it won’t be something I give up whether it makes me coin or not. The simple fact is however, it’s not.
I’m working again, and whilst it’s necessary, it isn’t where I saw myself wholeheartedly, but it’s a good job, with good people.
When I’m not at work, I’m working, and now this extremely volatile, high pressure balancing act is where I’m at. It’s only been a week. Lord help me.
But that’s not the worst of it. The worst of it, is the fact that my 3 children have become second to this time ravenous monster I’ve created. My kids are so incredibly important to me, but if I don’t continue spinning these plates, mummy's going to be important to no one. Mummy’s going to keep living day to day, living with stress that knows no bounds and stretches out in front of her far beyond the line of sight. Mummy’s going to crave more from a life that can’t now give her what she thought she would have, even if she just tried a little harder.
Mummy is a bad mummy.
I’m stuck in this place of not quite meeting up to the expectations that surround me, and being so busy externally, and internally, I cannot do it all, and it’s showing.
Bad mother,
bad wife,
bad sister,
bad daughter,
bad employee,
bad artist,
there’s no time for me in their thoughts anymore, because I removed myself from them. To keep going. To keep striving. To not just be a mummy. To be me.
At the moment I’m an artist first, a mother second.
Bad.
