When I logged into Twitter this morning, I saw the usual Monday related abuse, and I couldn’t relate to it, at all. Because I don’t work anymore.
Three weeks ago was my last day with a company I had worked at for six years, and I’ve worked since I was 14. That said, even when I was employed the ‘I hate Monday’ palaver was always a little bit irrelevant because I worked in retail, so I never had weekends off and the associated comedown with Sunday afternoon, and the hatred of Mondays. Even so, Monday was always report-writing, previous week analysing, following up from the weekend etc, and justifying to an area manager precisely WHY you hadn’t hit target. So Mondays were still a bit shit.
Now, however, Mondays are a bit weird. It could be a fresh start to a new week, but usually it’s just doing all the crap that got ignored over the weekend. And don’t get me started on washing. If I’m not sorting it to BE washed, I’m sorting it by colour into the tumble drier, and sorting the washing that needs to be air-dried, or sorting it into piles to be put away, or putting it away…and that’s just washing, so you see what my ‘not working’ life looks like.
I don’t feel like I’m contributing, to what, I don’t know, but whatever it is, I’m not. My days don’t really have a structure, apart from toddler feeding times. As I said, it’s a bit weird.
But I really like not working. No stress in the mornings, no awkward staff, customers or manager to deal with, no rush home and feed, bath, bed the kids, no feeling that I don’t actually spend time with my children apart from shoving food in their mouths and trying to get them to sleep ASAP so I can do everything else I need to do, no forgetting to do a load of washing and then realising my big little man has no jumper for school, no missing that new word, or the important story on the walk home from school, no being so tired that my husband and I eat dinner and then fall asleep without really talking.
I am lucky that I can (it is not without huge sacrifices I hasten to add; I am now very good at being tight). And in many ways I am much happier and more relaxed than when I was a full-time working mummy, but I do feel I have lost a little bit of ‘me’ in the process. I was good at my job, I enjoyed it, and I put an awful lot (maybe too much) into it; and it was something that was all mine. Now I feel like I am just a little piece of everything else.
Not working has also made me realise that I have changed massively since having children (how anyone can say they haven’t changed is completely beyond me, but that’s another post). I value time in a way I never did before, and I have different interests now, I now love crafting and baking, I used to be able to shop all day: I now can’t stand it. So, I need to figure me out again, before my children I knew who I was; now, I’m not so sure. But that’s totally fine. I refuse to be apprehensive about what lies ahead, and I will not mourn what I once was, or had; it was lovely, but it’s gone.
If we don’t change, we don’t grow, and I reckon I’m due a growth spurt.
Maybe next Monday.