After a period of uncertainty, a wobble and some time off working, last week I finally heard what was happening in my job. Namely that it wasn't happening. Unless divine intervention hands me a new contract, as of the end of June I will be made redundant.
It is both a relief and terrifying.
A relief because I will have the pressure of trying to do it all and have it all taken off.
A relief because I will be able to drop the mask of pretending it's all hunky-dory and of course I can do everything. In five minutes. Five minutes yesterday that is.
A relief because I will be able to feel more of a mummy rather than someone who says goodbye several times a week.
Terrifying because I haven't been with Wriggles 7 days a week since she was about 6 months old (illnesses notwithstanding).
Terrified because I am worried how I will be judged-yet another single parent reliant on the welfare state for a period of time.
Terrifying because I am scared I will not be up to the job.
Terrified because it feels like so far I have been winging it and it is just pure luck we have scraped through.
But part of me is worried and feels like a failure if I am not putting something in to the bank of my own doing. I know it's just a stereotype but it does worry me that I will just be chalked up by people and written off. I never ever envisaged that I would be in this situation. I feel at odds with myself-the idealist black-and-white view against the compassionate. The maternal urges against cold hard reason.
Sometimes being a mother, and a single mother at that, is like having two voices in your head constantly arguing. Go to bed, voices. Please.