Barely Holding it Together - chapter 1 continued

Now, if by some miracle you do have it all together, I have two things to say: first, you’re lying (don’t worry, we’ve all done it) and you can politely show yourself out – this is for the rest of us who are holding on by a thread and calling it a lifestyle. Second, when it all goes tits up, you’ll be welcomed back with open arms, and probably a snarky comment for good measure.

Now, maybe you’re a mum who just found a melted crayon stuck to your ass. Or you’re drowning in a sea of emails, bills and unsolicited advice from people who ‘mean well’. Or maybe you’re tired of pretending you have it all figured out while quietly Googling whether your child’s current behaviour is just another ‘leap’ or actually warrants a doctor’s appointment.

Here’s the good news: you don’t have to hold it together. In fact, I’m here to tell you that it’s perfectly okay to let a few things fall apart. That’s where the real freedom is – in embracing the mess, laughing at the chaos and unapologetically dropping all the shit society insists you need to care about.

For too long, women have been sold the lie that we should be able to do it all. Be the perfect mum, wife, friend, employee, human. Keep the house spotless, the kids thriving and yourself looking like a glowier, less problematic version of Gwyneth Paltrow. Spoiler alert: none of this is possible. The glow is just sweat.

So, what if we stopped trying? What if we embraced the idea that ‘good enough’ is, well, good enough? What if we took all the fucks we’re handing out and save them for things that actually matter – like our happiness, our sanity and whether or not there’s wine in the fridge.

This isn’t a self-help book about becoming your best self. This is a survival guide for staying yourself while the world tries to turn you into a stressed-out Stepford wife. It’s full of sarcasm, questionable advice and just enough professional wisdom to make you feel better about caring less.

By the time you finish this, I hope you’ll learn to laugh at yourself, love your imperfect life and, most importantly, give fewer fucks. Because here’s the truth: you’re already doing enough. Hell, you’re probably doing too much.

So, pour yourself a drink (coffee, wine, tequila – no judgement here), settle in and let’s figure out how to drop the mental load, embrace the mess and live a little freer. You’ve got this – even if you don’t feel like it.

Now, let’s get started. Because I know you’re probably reading this sat on the loo (after all, it’s the only sanctuary we mums have left) and need me to crack on because you have ‘stuff’ to do.