Earlier this week I started to write a blog on me-time.
Then I stopped myself and rewrote the words to Superwoman. This is how little I know about the subject of me-time these days. That I chose to write song lyrics instead.
Me-time is at the bottom of my list most weeks. It’s on the bottom of most people’s lists these days, I think. It’s down there with treating yourself to something new. Making time to ring that friend you’ve been meaning to call. Going for that run.
The problem lies in the fact that ‘me-time’ doesn’t have any demanding qualities. It doesn’t stand up and shout ‘feed me!’ (kids), ‘wash me!’ (clothes) or ‘pay me!’ (energy suppliers). So it lingers in the background and gets left out and forgotten. Completely ignored.
‘You need to make more time for yourself,’ someone says.
‘Ok, then. Good idea. I’ll run up a couple of hours of Time on the sewing machine, whilst I label the kids’ clothing. Oh hang on, do you have a pattern for that?’
No of course you don’t. Because NOONE has a pattern for it. We know very little about this illusive past-time, least of all how to make it.
So after a stressful few weeks, it is rather uncanny that me-time has found me. Quite by accident. Presumably fed up of patiently waiting its turn, it’s now demanding my attention. ‘Notice me!’ And I have to say, I rather like its new approach.
I’ve been on a course, you see. To learn how to write features. Not only have I had five hours to ponder something more interesting than the ridiculously sticky merits of Weetabix but the course has finished early and I find myself with two hours to myself. Let me repeat that. TWO HOURS TO MYSELF. In daylight hours i.e. before the ‘kiddy bedtime watershed.’
My children are very likely terrorising my mother-in-law as I type. She is probably curled up in a makeshift camp being ordered about by Beaver, leader of the Fourth Reich. And I probably should be heading home to rescue her. But I can’t. I have my own problems. I’m being held hostage by ‘me-time.’
So, here I am. Sitting by the window in the Tate Modern cafe looking out onto the comings and goings of the Southbank. Writing my blog with a cappuccino and watching a busker, who through the angled window looks just a little like Brad Pitt. Can you tell we covered scene setting on the course?
Yes, this is how I dreamed writing would be. Leisurely. With a regular heartbeat. Rather than fitting it in between nappy changes and having palpitations because someone is calling my name. Again.
I am in a state of true relaxation. For the first time in too long.
Have I learned anything about how to get this illusive me-time? Well, no not really. Sorry about that. But I have realised that when it comes a-calling or more likely knocks me over the head with a very large bat, I’m not going to be a fool and ignore it.
We might not be able to make it, but when it comes our way, we can at least recognise it for the gift it is.
And open it like a kid on Christmas morning.
Surviving Motherhood Tip#13 – how to make me-time
- I have no idea. If you find out let me know.
- Let go of guilt. When we feel like we should be doing something we forget what we like doing.
- If me-time presents itself, grab it! There is usually someone else who can do what you should be doing.
- Force yourself to do things outside your comfort zone. Me-time can be found in the most unusual places.
- Remember that you deserve it. Who is better placed to have me-time with you than you?