Don’t judge me…….
Telling a story that shows you in your worst possible light is a particularly special bit of hell but here we go…
This is a beauty from my “deep stored brain filing cabinet” that begins like any ‘normal’ morning. I was having a day out in London, I used to work in London before I had kids and realised that the hellish commute, long hours, expected after work partying and high heel wearing wouldn’t be compatible with tommee tipee sippy cups. Every year since my boys were born my amazing husband would buy me a London travel card for Mothers Day and take a day off work to look after the kids while I hot-footed it up to London to have a 12 hour holiday and recreate a bit of my life BK (Before Kids)!
Oh, how I loved these days out…they’d look a bit like this… Get up, make up, nice outfit, on the train with take away coffee and book to read in silence, did you hear that IN SILENCE! A whole hour on the train with no one asking me for a snack, asking where their ball was, asking if we could go to the park or throwing a tantrum – bliss! Once in London I would visit my old place of work to see a friend for a coffee, look around a few shops, visit a gallery or exhibition and count down the hours til 6pm when I would meet my friends CB and Robsie after they’d finished their work.
We’d hit one or two cocktail bars and then go out for dinner. AND I LOVED EVERY MINUTE. We told stories and ordered more drinks, we reminisced and ordered more drinks, we laughed and ordered more drinks, we were too loud and ordered more drinks – you get the picture!
Now… the less glamourous bits:
I always threw up in the restaurant loo before I left to go back home
I always threw up in the train loo on the way home
I always fell asleep on the train on the way home
CB and Robsie learnt to make me set an alarm on my phone to wake me up before I hit my home train station so I didn’t oversleep and wake up at the end of the line
They also called me as my train was nearly at my station to speak to me to make sure I was safe and ready to get off at my stop
I was always incredibly vulnerable walking/staggering from the station to home
I always had the hangover from hell the next day which resulted in me being tired, grumpy and snappy with my sweet, sweet children
I always swore I’d never drink like that again (until a few months later, when I’d do it all again, exactly the same).
I thought it was fun, I thought I was de-stressing, I thought I was relaxing and I thought I was recreating a bit of what I considered to be my freedom years. The truth was it was fun for about 30 mins at the beginning of the eve (round about the end of drink 1), it stressed me out completely the next day and for about another 2 days afterwards and ‘My freedom years?’ What freedom was I trying to recreate? Didn’t I still have every freedom? Yep and so much more besides.
I look back on the escapades with an odd sense of knowing. I knew I was doing myself a massive disservice at the time but I carried on for so many years regardless.
To pinch and paraphrase a quote from the inspirational Maya Angelou “Once we know better, we do better” and now I do.
What do you do now that you might look back differently on in the future?