Part III - That voice in your head...

Its been a long day, hasn't it.

You woke up early and its been go, go, go all day. 

No matter how much you do, its never enough - there's always something left undone.
You collapse into the easy chair, promising yourself...'tomorrow, for sure' but getting to that tomorrow is like climbing a slippery slope.

Your body has gone to hell, your career is heading there as well.
And frankly, at this point, you're too tired to even care.
You're stressed, low and wondering what you're doing with your life?
You've tried, you really have...every day but it never seems to be enough.

And so on and so forth...
It goes round and round in your head - day and night - pulling you down and keeping you there.
Sapping your strength - strangling slowly whatever initiative life hasn't managed to kick out of you yet - this voice in your head, the one that says...

'How? How will you do it? You don't have the money/the time/the resources/the willpower/the energy/the contacts/the whatever-you-think-you-don't-have...'

Or 'You have responsibilities. What will people think if...?'

Or 'You're never going to succeed. Do you know how many...'

Or 'It doesn't matter. Nothing you do is going to change his opinion...'

This voice in your head will never stop - unless you make it!
So ignore it.

Because you haven't failed unless you admit you've failed. 
And you haven't!

Because just your 'wanting it' is a good enough reason for you to do it.
And you do, don't you?

Because you have nothing better to do with your life.
Do you?

So go ahead, turn down the volume on the voice in your head.
because you don't have to listen to it.

Part II - What your husband 'really' wants?

Get your mind out of the gutter, woman!
You've been married for a few years now, so the bloom's worn off the rose, the flush has faded, the fat lady's sung, and you can put away that expensive underwear that you probably don't fit into anymore anyway.

Coming back to the topic in question - 
what your long-suffering husband 'really' wants (other than that weekend in bangkok with his buds) is for you to be happy. And before you go 'awwwww...' let me tell you why.

Your man, like most men, is a very straight forward creature. 
He rarely complicates things with self-imposed expectations and convoluted reasoning. 
No, he leaves that to you.
Your man actually. honestly. genuinely. wants you to be happy. 
Because when you're happy, he's happy.

That's not sentimental claptrap or some rose-colored romantic nonsense - that's the distilled truth from over a decade of watching a classic male deal with multiple female neuroses(es).

Men live hard lives, trying to earn a living in what's obviously a crazy economic climate. 
Unlike us, they don't have the option of 'taking time off' whether for a mental-health sabbatical, to just to look after the family or to work on their bucket list. 
At least they think they don't.
But like us, they also have long, tiring days and their own crap to deal with - bodies that don't function like they used to, hairlines that insist on receding with astonishing rapidity, bosses that ride their ass all day... and wives that are a pain to come home to.

Yes, there it is people, the bitter truth. 
Women, especially unhappy women, or stressed women, are a pain to come home to. 
I wouldn't like to come home to me sometimes either. 

Come on, you know what I mean, and you agree. 
At your most painfully honest moments, you've thought it yourself - we can be the most unreasonable, cribby, just plain painful people to come home to that ever walked god's green earth.
Oh, we have reason, never doubt that - mostly self-created - but reasons nonetheless.
But is that any reason to dump those reasons on the most special person in your life, the moment he walks in that door? 

And we do, don't we, everyday in some way or the other.

You tell me.

Part I - Am I doing enough?

The doorbell goes off at the ungodly hour of 6 F*%king am.

You wake up bleary-eyed, stumble to the door tripping over the slippers your husband so kindly left at the foot of the bed, get the milk (otherwise the crazy aunty opposite will flick it), dump it on the kitchen slab for the cooking-maid to deal with and stagger back to bed for a few moments more of oblivion.

The alarm blares to life ('Shut up & Bounce, Baby Bounce..., really, like really!) a scant second later.

The day Has started.

You kiss your sweaty little one awake, wondering briefly - isn't she supposed to wake all soft, warm and smelling divine? And then remember that you'd have to bathe, powder and put her to bed for that...

And let's face it, you couldn't wait for lights out last night so you could collapse in a heap in front of the TV for some me-time so let's just scratch the 'smelling divine' bit.

Wrestling her through her morning routine, you sneak a hurried moment to brush your teeth and wash said face. 

Screw breakfast, its over-rated anyway.

Swap the shorts for a pair of tracks, kiss the great-smelling-spiffy-dressed-hubby calmly having the 'healthy' cornflakes for breakfast and then heave her loudly-protesting tushie into the lift for the trip to school.

Back home, the hubby has departed, leaving the house looking like an army passed through. Twice.

You dump the stinky laundry into the washing-machine, take a few gulps of the cooling coffee and reluctantly lace on your battered sports shoes (set a mental reminder to buy a flashier pair when you're next at the mall) to head for a painful hour of 'stretching' exercises, a euphemism for ritualistic torture set to music.

You limp home later, wondering what - from the four whole vegetables your husband deigns to eat - to have cooked for dinner. And grimace at the thought of having last night's dinner leftovers for lunch (breaking news...maids cannot and will not cook enough for just two, hence leftover-city)...

And its still just 10 am.

This is what our lives are like, the privileged few, who work in swanky offices or have their own businesses...

Who have husbands that love them, don't beat or abuse them, and who agree to hire (okay, beg to hire...) maids to cook, clean and pick up after us,

Who have time to visit air-conditioned gyms & worry about the sag of our over-sized bums...

Who have one child and are gracefully resisting our mother's (or mother-in-laws) request for another.

Are we happy? 

You'd think so, wouldn't you!

But we're women at the end of the day - genetically programmed to stew, and worry, and fret. 

And ask ourselves tearfully at the end of a long and very very tiring day...am I doing enough?

If I'm a stay-at-home mommy - am I doing enough? 

Then why isn't my child better-behaved, more-accomplished, better-smelling, yada yada yada...

If I'm a working mother - am I doing enough?

Then why doesn't anybody appreciate the effort it takes to handle a job, a home AND a child? 

If I'm trying to work from home - am I doing enough?

Then why do I have the urge to bash my head against the wall, repeatedly, again and again and again...

I have come to the firm and rather un-exciting conclusion that there is no right answer to that question.

Because 'there' is no 'there' when you get 'there'. 

Its never 'enough'.

Let's rephrase that question to 'Have I had enough?'

I can answer that. 

Yes. I've had enough.