Back to Reality

First week back has gone OK.

We all struggled with the mornings, too used to our 9am holiday wake-ups and late-night entertainment. Getting up and dressed in cloudy London is a sharp snap back to reality.

River has upgraded his “NO NURSERY” to “I DON’T WANT TO GO TO NURSERY,” which we’re calling progress. Kike doesn’t react. He calmly says, “I know,” and silently dresses him while River repeats the sentence until he’s dressed and sitting at the table for breakfast.

We’re back to being ships that pass, home to school, clubs, dinner shifts, Kike at jiu-jitsu in the evenings. It’s not exciting, but it’s predictable. And predictable means there’s little to no drama.

River is settled. He comes home from the dreaded nursery (that he loves) and slots straight into his evening routine: iPad, dinner, two episodes of Scooby Doo, stories, bed. We don’t change it. We just do it.

We have some new phrases too, delivered in a full American accent thanks to his latest Detective dog show. Out of nowhere he’ll announce:

“I must not play with batteries. Batteries are not toys. Some toys need batteries but I must not play with batteries.”

Head cocked. Small spin. Walks off. No follow-up required.

Or, even louder:
“IF YOU NEED HELP, CALL 911!”

I’ve tried explaining that 911 won’t get us very far in London. It hasn’t helped.

Summer gets her time once he’s in bed. Murder Mystery shows, Queer Eye or her new ask: EastEnders, which makes me smile because I started watching it around her age. She’s growing up and wants to watch more ‘mature’ things. Although I see her enjoying Scooby Doo.

A Bench and a Donut

Kike is working the next few Saturdays, so it’s the three of us today. Summer requested a pyjama day and I didn’t fight it.

I did the washing, we had a disco. Summer and I “seasoned” the blackboard (apparently that’s a thing, learnt too late). We walked to the shop for treats.

The treats didn’t make it home because River declared he needed a bench to eat his donut on. The bench outside the shop faced a busy road and had an interesting man already sitting on it. I suggested home.

Absolutely not.

So we walked to the little park nearby and he got his bench. He sat there, completely content, eating his donut while Summer had her ice cream and the sun made a brief appearance.

There was something really nice about it. No plan. No schedule. Just sitting.

We wandered home and they’ve since been rotating between playdough and kinetic sand while half-watching Scooby Doo films (yes, there are films. You’re welcome).

Nothing particularly productive. Nothing particularly planned.

I used to hate Saturdays like this. They felt long. Heavy. Like I should be doing something better with the time.

Now I’m leaning into them.

Last Year’s Costume

Next week is World Book Day, now apparently World Book Week. Quizzes, competitions, author visits and the famous character dress-up day.

Someone asked what I was going as. And I thought about last year.

I’d borrowed an Alice in Wonderland costume. It was hanging up, ready. I’ve never loved fancy dress, I feel awkward but I join in for the children.

That evening I started panicking. I didn’t want to wear it. And no one was going to “make” me. But I spiralled anyway.

Kike kept saying I didn’t have to wear it. I messaged the assistant headteacher apologising. She replied immediately: it was fine.

I still fell asleep crying.

The next day, no costume. A child asked what I was dressed as. I said I didn’t want to wear a costume.

They shrugged.

That was it.

I apologised again the next day to the Headteacher. She looked slightly confused and said it was fine. She then asked if I was OK.

“I don’t think it was about the costume,” I said that night.
“No babe,” Kike replied. “I don’t think it was about the costume.”

It Crept Up Quietly

Since writing, everything has felt more manageable.

I hadn’t realised how exhausted I was; the appointments, therapies, night wake-ups, school worries, trying to get River to speak, being back at work full-time. The smallest thing outside my comfort zone tipped me over.

I’ve sat in a GP’s office before and filled in those forms. The ones where you circle numbers.
How often do you look forward to things?
How often do you feel interested in doing things?

One to ten.

I remember staring at the questions and knowing the ‘correct’ answer, the functioning answer. The answer of someone who gets up, gets dressed, gets on with it.

But the honest answer would have been low. Very low.

And that’s the strange thing about depression. You can still operate. The lunches get packed. The children arrive on time. You show up to work. You smile in the staffroom.

You just don’t feel any of it.

This Year

This week, when someone asked what I was dressing up as, I smiled.

River will go as a Funny Bones skeleton (thank you, Halloween onesie). Summer is a schoolgirl detective. And I bought a dress covered in books with a slight Harry Potter vibe.

Done.

No spiralling. No apology messages.

Just a dress.

Depression and anxiety don’t always arrive loudly. Sometimes they show up disguised as a costume hanging on a wardrobe door.

It’s important to check in before you reach the “it’s not about the costume” moment.

Right now, I’m steady.

Not perfect. Not wildly thriving. Just steady. Sitting on a park bench in weak London sunshine while my son eats a donut and insists we call 911.