Last week I was incredibly fortunate enough to be able to visit my very good friend in Edinburgh, very many miles away from where I live on the outskirts of South East London.
Of course, I took the train up from King’s Cross and it was a journey I have long romanticised. The very first time I went to Edinburgh on the train, I had been told of the wonder of that last part of the journey after Newcastle, where the train rolls alongside the Northumberland coast and over the Scottish border, and where for miles there is the uninterrupted view of the North Sea. They told me it was glorious, and they were right. But these days I romanticise it more because I am a mother to two toddlers and a four and a half hour train journey on my own is something I often dream of.
Whilst I am past the overstimulation that comes with breastfeeding and the clawing of hands all over the body, I do still crave time alone in a darkened room like I did when they were younger. With two toddlers I feel on edge for most of the day. They are two very energetic brothers who at two years apart struggle to understand each other and fight constantly. There is not an hour in the day where I am not poised to intervene in their play, with my heart rate risen and cortisol pumping through my blood stream. I may not be overstimulated but I am exhausted.
Four and a half hours on a train to me is an opportunity to relax.
I will be en route to Edinburgh in Coach A, a standard class seat on the 10:50 service hurtling through Peterborough. I may be sat opposite Barry who works in accounts on the phone to the office demanding some urgent powerpoint slide but in my mind I will be in a spa. No one to bother me for hours. Bliss.
But relax I could not because by the time the trip came along, I had a lot to do and this long train journey was the chance to get things done.
In the few weeks leading up to the journey, my to-do list grew and I had spent those 4 and a half hours over and over again. I took five books with me (some large and some small) a writing book, fourteen pens and a sketchbook. I thought I could journal, I could write for my Substack, hey I could probably write two pieces - my design one is overdue so perhaps that should have been the priority - I could draw, I could day-dream - anything as long as I was productive. J.K Rowling wrote Harry Potter on that same journey, what was stopping me from getting on with my novel even?
There would be no excuses; I would have no distractions.
So, what did I achieve on my journey?
Not a lot.
If you consider the whole trip and what was in the end 9.5 hours on a train where I could have produced something, it is laughable what I actually got done. Yet, in this moment I think my inability to have done anything productive is actually a good thing.
On the train out I wrote in my journal, read most of one book and started another and I made sure I took time to enjoy the view out of the window. (It would be rude not to!) It felt productive in that I did many of the things I wanted to do, but there was so much I didn’t do and I had produced nothing tangible from the journey that I could take with me.
On the train home two days later I had even less to show for it.
The friend I was visiting is a new mum with a five-month-old daughter, and I saw in her what I refuse to see in myself.
We spoke about the frustrations of motherhood and its wild contradictions. How we can be so overstimulated and yet so incredibly bored; how we can be so busy and yet have achieved nothing. But the chubby baby rolling on the floor with an infectious smile is proof to me that she has achieved so much.
My advice to her would be something that I refuse to listen to from others, and I wonder why that is. Perhaps now that my children are older and it is meant to be easier, I feel like I can no longer claim that I am too busy bringing them up. I no longer spoon food into their mouths and rock them to sleep so I should have time to do all of the things I want to do. And I have lots of things I want to do.
The projects I set myself are a reaction to the incredible boredom and lack of mental stimulation in my life with the kids. I need something to do to feel myself but in creating mental stimulation without the support network that it requires, I am causing myself unnecessary stress. I wonder if I am trying to lead another person’s life and that I should accept my circumstances rather than fight them.
There’s always that story of the mat-leave book that turned into a best-seller. 1How some people take the experience of motherhood and they get something out of it, rather than walking around feeling too exhausted to muster a few words together, struggling to do anything on top of the endless loads of washing and wiping snotty noses. We all have the same 24 hours, they say, but some of us don’t have anything to show for them.
I am not really talking about the train journey am I? It’s motherhood; of course it is.
I have spoken before about how I am frustrated by others not valuing the act of looking after children as a contribution to society and how mothers are not really taken seriously or looked after in the real world. In fact, whilst we are looking after our children we are mostly separate from the worlds we once knew from our careers, for example; locked out until we can earn enough money. And yet isn’t that what I am doing? I am not taking my contribution seriously when I think that I have not done enough and that I have not been productive enough.
But what is productivity in motherhood? What is it I am meant to have at the end of it all?
Spoiler: it’s not a novel.
When I am saying to myself that my train journey isn’t enough that the act of getting from a to b - the intended product of the journey, isn’t enough, what I am actually saying is that I am not doing enough in motherhood. That the purpose, to raise two children - to have the product of two loved humans at the end of it, that isn’t enough, I should have achieved all these bonus things too - despite having no time and no support in which to make them happen.
What I would say to new mothers and to my friend is that of course you have achieved so much.
What you are doing is more than enough.
You are enough.
The journey is enough.
And so for now, help me to convince myself, as I would try to convince others too, if not to enjoy the journey, (as it isn’t always enjoyable) then to at least be present in it. Not to be anxious that I haven’t achieved much else because I don’t need to.
The journey, alone, is enough.
“I give permission to not achieve anything today, other than be with love and presence.
That is enough.”
Thank you Lauren, those words found me right when I needed them.
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Do you find yourself restless in motherhood?
Do you give advice to others that you don’t take yourself?
How do you feel about the phrase: “The journey is enough?”
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Thank you for this brilliant piece of writing! You speak the truth. I have a constant underlying feeling that I am not doing enough and the the dread of people asking me what I am doing and having nothing ‘official’ to say that people understand. It definitely feels worse as my children grow and there is an assumption that it is less intense (of course there is some truth in this though I would argue that it is different intense!) At the same time, there is literally no time ever that I am doing nothing! And yes to the constant feeling of being on edge with a 2 and 4 year old…! I think yours are similar xx
Such a brilliant post Kylie and this bit made me stop and think:
The projects I set myself are a reaction to the incredible boredom and lack of mental stimulation in my life with the kids. I need something to do to feel myself but in creating mental stimulation without the support network that it requires, I am causing myself unnecessary stress.
You've hit the nail on the head, I need to do different projects to get some kind of mental stimulation, even though I feel like it is really hard sometimes because of no support too. But for me I feel like I need those, to kind of carry me through the days and weeks and make me feel like me. Its a tough balance isn't it xx