In light of our recent, er, escapade, my sporadic insomnia has returned. Not the usual pointless ideas buzzing around and keeping me awake. Nor are the thoughts of innumerable chores or standard worries of being a bloody parent keeping the sandman at bay. No my delightfully creative mind has found a new fetish to fixate on – the awesome world of the “what ifs”!
Not that this is a surprise, or indeed even a novel way to prevent sleep, but after such a joyful end to our holiday just gone, it has taken on a whole new level of fucktardedness. (yes that is quite possibly not a word but I like it so piss off)
Every step of the journey, post robbery, plays out in my mind. Yet this time round, with every conceivable worse scenario playing itself out across the back of my eyelids. Which of course is the stuff of nightmares.
During the daylight hours, however, I am somewhat able to disect and analyse these thoughts, dismissing them, as you would expect, as the worries of a sleep deprived mind.
But what if they are not? (I realise the irony of what iffing my what if)
My concern is that I have been irrevocably scarred. That I am now destined to live out the rest of my days shrouded in a broiling cloud of what ifs.
It has transcended the robbery event and everything that could have gone pear shaped in that moment, to encompassing the very fact that I am all that my children have. I am their single tenuous parental link to this confusing and frustrating world they are growing up in. I am their SOLE parent. Their rock. Their base to compare everything beyond the realm of childhood upon.
Fuck. Me. No pressure…
Yet in true Dad form, I wake every morning from a night of anxiety, broken up by periods of questionable fitful sleep, to take on the positive, happy, carefree persona I always am.
Is this parenting? Is this what all parents have done since the dawn of time? Am I destined to live inside a giant fucking bubble of what ifs for the rest of my life?
Probably not, I hope. No, I think this is just an internal reaction to the confronting ordeal we experienced. Just as well, it really messes with my chi. 😂
As you can see, it has given me pause and induced reflection on the simple fact that I AM a solo parent, and with that comes a burden (ok responsibility then) of making sure that not only are my kidlets safe and well, but so am I. As much as the what ifs in life would love nothing more than to render me a sobbing mess in the corner, I don’t get a choice.
Because the little humans that have been trusted to me, need me to be present, to be as awesome a parent as I can be.
They need me to be Just A Dad.
So fuck you what ifs. You have no place in the now. You have no power over me or my life. You have no say whatsoever in how our little family moves, apart from preventing my sleep that is 😉
What ifs are dwelling on the past. Something that is irreversible, unchangeable and unproductive to a happy life. The past is just that. Past. Unless it bears witness to a fond memory, it is not worth the brain power it is sapping.
So I sincerely flip the proverbial bird to you what ifs, and in your place I will celebrate the now.
Because in the end, that’s all there is.
The here. The now. Reality.