I Am Beyoncé

I am Beyoncé. Standing tall, legs wide, super hero stance. This has become one of my adopted mantras when I’m wobbling. I’m clearly not actually Beyoncé. But when you feel like a shrivelled up, pencil drawn scribble, stepping into this hot woman’s shoes in my head makes me straighten up a bit. I wonder who Beyoncé imagines she is when she’s having an off day?

I hadn’t realised until I started writing today that July 2019 was my last post. Time as always has no bearing on my thoughts anymore. Weeks pass, months too and I still think something that happened months ago was only yesterday. And when I posted in July, things in my head were not great. And if I’m honest, they’re still not. Life feels a bit of a survival game right now. Imagine Wipeout. You know the best game show that was ever on telly. I always wanted to go on that….anyway, I digress.

So Wipeout is my life. I’m powering on. Got my helmet on, knee pads and my grief has spun me around 16 times on a metaphorical roundabout and then pushed me off to tackle the terrain of the obstacle course like nothing happened. I jump onto the inflatable slide. This bits not too bad. I get covered in gunk but I don’t care, I’m just moving but don’t need much effort. Then comes that sucker punch wall. I try my best to hang on but my grip is slippy and then woah…gall bladder needs removing! I’m back on the wall, edging forwards…ouch right in the throat…absess needs draining….it’s ok I’m back on it now…jab to the stomach…sickness bugs x3, tonsillitis, poorly babies for what feels like an eternity, tag teaming temperatures, sleepless nights, doctor runs. Wash my hands, I’m back on the wall. Grip is better then BUMFFF…husband rushed to hospital coughing up blood…I’m in the mud puddle and my helmets all wonky. I drag myself out slowly, I stink, I’m so tired but this won’t beat me. Hospital runs, school runs…just keep the feet running, walking, pulling up through the mire and soon it’ll dry and release me and I’m off again…sprinting to the next obstacle.

Last year was just a bit shit really. We all seemed to have terrible runs in health. From July onwards we never really got more than a clear week then another weighted pendulum came swinging at us and knocked me off the balance beam again. But you just carry on. What’s the choice? I am Beyoncé.

Then Christmas. The second one without my Mum. It was harder than the first in so many ways. Less shock padding the cell and more hard edges to bump into. Everything seems perfectly normal looking around but it all feels wrong. The loss hits you in ways you least expect. Texting my sister to announce the online Christmas shopping slots were open, hit me like a wall, something we and my Mum got excited about each year. Buying gifts for everyone but not for her. Missing the pile of thoughtful Mum bought necessities, new mascara, diaries, ridiculously expensive candles. Nothing that I couldn’t live without but items that made life a little nicer. Mum touches. Missing my Mums touch. Her hand on my face. Her arms around my babies. Her voice on the phone. Her face. Just her. I miss all of her.

New Years Eve. We huddle together under the pretence of a party and I try my hardest to get drunk. But with three little ones to follow and then settle in someone else’s house proved as always epically exhausting. And the champagne kept wearing off every time I had to run upstairs and cuddle someone to sleep. For the 13 minutes I was downstairs, miraculously at 12, I danced maniacally, downed another glass then gave up and fell into bed quite relieved it was all over.

So 2020. I am still here. Still Beyoncé on the days I need her. Just now Beyoncé on beta blockers. To help with the heart palpitations I’ve had since losing my Mum and to hopefully stop the whirring, endless mental thoughts that literally made me feel I was losing my mind last year. And we are only 8 days into this one so it might still be lost at this point. Together with the medication, I’m clinging to the things in my life that hold my head above water. My babies. The three people who are literally made out of sun beams and fill my eyes and my soul with pure joy. And dancing. Teaching my classes is so much more than my job, it’s therapy and a tiny part of my week where I get to reconnect with who I am pre babies, pre marriage, pre grief. And wine. And my family. And blue cheese.

So, I’m onto the big red balls next. (If you haven’t seen Wipeout before, I’m gonna sound like a right weirdo). I’m a little scared but I’m running at it. I’m gonna jump and hope I bounce off each one with the elegance and aplomb of Darcy Bussell but as I imagine, judging on last year and my non existent ballet skills, I may hit the first one, bounce off at a funny angle and belly flop straight back into the mud. I’ll get back out again, don’t worry. It might just take a while and if I’m gone too long, call Beyoncé. She always knows what to do.