At the start of July, I drafted a ridiculously long I quit /goodbye post where I went into detail on all the things I have got going on in my life. I was beyond burnt out but I was attempting to hide it from everyone. My whole life just felt like an endless list of stuff I had to do, not anything I wanted to do, and it was slowly killing my spark. I was getting home from work exhausted and I did not want to do anything other than go to bed and cry. My one escape, reading, had become a chore, just another thing I HAD to do each day. I was finding that I was emotionally becoming more sensitive and easier to set off, be it into anger or tears. And I was sick of it. Someone around me only needed to be a little off to put me in a tailspin. It felt like nothing I did was for myself anymore, everything was for someone else – the kids, other family members, my partner, Authors, other bookish influencers – but nothing for me.

In my big long I quite post I wrote about the toxic money and fame-hungry environment that is brewing in the online bookstagram world. I wrote about blogging and my plans in the reviewer world. I wrote about all the bad luck and ill health my maternal grandmother has been through lately. I wrote about how the older I get the worse my overall anxiety becomes, and not just FOMO. But I just do not care anymore. And I doubt y’all want to hear it. Like, who in the world wants to read my sad-sack post anyways lol everybody has their own stuff going on at the moment and there are few people who are coping well.

The short version. I am not well, physically (long-term life illnesses and new problems) or mentally (fuck you COVID and your isolating restrictions). I am sore, tired, and frustrated all the time! As a full-time working mum, there is a lot of shit I have to do that I can’t not do, and that is draining. Being a parent is all about shit you have to do. They don’t tell you about that beforehand. They just tell you that you’ll love them and it’ll be all worth it. Nar mate! You have to keep them feed, clean, clothed, and HAPPY and it’s fucking hard! It’s 247, never a second off, hard. No one will emotionally abuse you more than your own children. Riley is now 7 and Ethan is 3½ and they just don’t stop. YES, they are adorable little assholes and I love them more than I love anything in the world, even more than chocolate and gin, but sometimes I wonder if they will be the death of me. To get some balance I am attempting to remove as much “have to” stuff as I can from my life, If it isn’t fun or beneficial to me or my family anymore, it’s gone.

Obviously, I will still read when the mood strikes me, as a good book is the best escape there is. But I will only be writing reviews if the book touches me enough that I fell the need to review it. I’ll still be staying on with the #AusYABloggers board, helping with book tours, etc. as I love those girls and I don’t want to turn my back on all the online bookish friends I’ve made.

I felt immediately calmer after making the decision back in July to just drop it all. I was heading to a very dark place that I haven’t been too since I was struggling with postnatal depression after my first baby. Happily with less to do each night my eldest son and I have taken to watching a TV show together each night for the hour between his little brother going to bed and him going to bed. At the moment Riley and I are watching The Masked Singer Australia on Monday and Tuesdays, then Ru Paul’s AJ and the Queen on Netflix every other day. The hour has become a way for us to reconnect and share something special together, as his little brother takes up a lot of my mummy time. I have also implemented a family games night for all four of us.

I am trying to be happy and healthy. I am trying to be more in the moment. I am trying to live. But damn 2020 is making it hard!