In 2006 Hannah Oakland was a drama student living in Central London - with a headful of dreams. Now she is a mother-of-two. In the first of a series of extracts from her inspirational new book she shares the ups and downs of parenthood ...
Last night Wes and I went to a gig at Westonbirt
Arboretum. Paloma Faith. Outside. In the rain. Don’t be fooled into jealousy
over my wildly glamorous life – it is quite literally years since we went to a
gig. Or the cinema. Or pretty much anywhere. But yesterday we put on our
wellies and our raincoats and our we-don’t-mind-the-weather faces, and we went.
As a Father’s Day present for Wes and, let’s be honest, a chance to get out of
the house and leave the kids with their grandparents. For an entire evening.
Hoorah.
I should
point out that there’s only one of Ms Faith’s songs that I know well enough to
sing along to. I had been dutifully humming it all day as preparation. Midway through
the afternoon I realised how perfectly it would fit into an essay about the
current state of my brain. I was onto something. It would be effortless – with
all the appearance of having a musical epiphany whilst freezing my toes off in
a forest. I’m pretty sure it’s the kind of writing that would win awards.
She didn’t play the song. Seriously. Even Paloma Faith is trying to keep me honest. (It could be that her set list had nothing to do with me, and was based on the fact that she has a new album to test out. Whatever.)
Bear with me while I shoe-horn in the pertinent line from
the song that was never played. It’ll be seamless. (Really, I’m fine about the
whole thing. Honest.) It goes a little something
Do you want the truth or something beautiful?
That lyric leaps out of the radio at me every time I hear
it. Those have felt like my options for the longest time. Truth or beauty.
Being honest or keeping everyone happy. Letting people see me as I truly am, or
maintaining my carefully polished veneer of a woman-in-control. The truth, with
all its messiness, brokenness and vulnerability has never felt like a viable
option.
Motherhood changed all that for me. Not initially, admittedly
– the temptation to project the image of the perfect, blissed-out mother was
just too strong. I’m not sure it ever worked. Not really. But I was damned if
anyone was going to know just how badly I was failing.
I dragged my heels through a year of post-natal depression
and everyone thought I was fine. Nobody saw the times I sat and sobbed. The
times I couldn’t bring myself to cook, or tidy, or leave the house. I didn’t
tell anyone how desperately I needed to run. To start over again. Somewhere far,
far away. Nobody knew that, as far as I was concerned, my baby would be better
off raised by somebody else. Anybody else. That’s an ugly, awkward kind of
truth.
Now, with two children, as depression settles itself in for
another innings, I have a problem. I want my babies to be sure of themselves.
To be confident. And brave. To know that they are enough, just as they are.
That no matter how painful or inconvenient their truths, they are worth
listening to and worth loving. There’s only one way that can happen.
You can’t teach something that you don’t understand. I can
only help them if I can help myself. If I can be brave, even when I’m afraid.
If I learn that I am enough, just as I am, if I share my truths, and accept
them, and love myself anyway. Which is hard. Very hard. Probably not
impossible, but very, very close.
So this is it. This is me. Studying honesty and openness and
vulnerability, as best I can, in the hope of passing those gifts on to these
two tiny humans that I’ve brought into this world. I’m reading books and
subscribing to blogs and listening to wise, generous friends. I’m talking. I’m
sharing. In real life and in writing. With my family and friends. Tiny little steps
towards an understanding that my truth is something beautiful. There is
no either/or.
This is an extract from The Honest Mums’ Club by Hannah Oakland, released later this month in
paperback, priced £9.99.
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