I wrote the following entry over a month ago during another one of my “lows”.

I poured out my heart to the page, and was ready to publish, when something strange happened. Neither my husband or I could get the entry to upload to my website. After a day of trying, we gave up and moved on. I talked to a few people about how I was feeling, deliberately did some things to get myself out of my head and thankfully I managed to move out of the “low”.

Happily, I am feeling fairly good at the moment and I am enjoying the reprieve from school routine. I have decided to publish this entry now because I believe it is important to be real.

A lot of the feelings that I feel aren’t unique to being a foster carer. A couple of months ago I was out with some other mums and their kids, feeling sorry for myself. As I listened to them, watched them, I was reminded that I am not alone in struggling with children being rude to me, refusing to eat their dinner, being difficult to get along with, messing up our houses and not listening to us. When we find camaraderie with others, when we feel validated, when we feel that we are not alone- we find courage. We are able to find contentment and peace in the midst of our struggles. Feeling low, discouraged, disheartened, frustrated, lonely, misunderstood, overlooked, under appreciated…. These are human emotions. Don’t suffer in silence. Don’t say that everything is fine if it’s not even OK.

Undergoing counselling has been of enormous assistance to my mental health, as have been talking to trusted people about my feelings, taking breaks from the kids where I can and doing things that I enjoy. I know that none of these things are a “quick fix” for mental health.

I just hope that by being real about my struggles, others feel free to do the same.

Let’s ditch the stigma around seeking support for ourselves and our relationships.

There should be as little shame around getting help for your heart, mind and soul as there is for taking your car to the mechanic.

“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33

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I try not to complain too much. Try to end things on a positive note.

I feel like I have no right to complain. I chose this life. I chose to become a foster carer and to have all of these kids.

I love being a mum. I’m happily married to a man who adores me. I find joy in every day things like laughing with the mums at school, putting the washing on the line, going for evening walks, reading with the kids, watering my tomato and basil plants, listening to Christmas carols, baking cookies…

So why do I feel so flat?

I have had four relatively easy pregnancies. Four healthy, adorable babies. I hear of women struggling to conceive, yearning for years to have what I did not struggle to have. My heart goes out to them. So I can’t complain. I feel guilty when I do. I have my health. We have everything we need and we haven’t lost our home to a bush fire or had to battle cancer.

I wanted to be a carer. Miss A and Miss L didn’t choose me; I chose them. It’s not their fault that I’m not strong enough.

When I look back at the Hannah of four years ago, I know that she would have imagined that life would be so much better by now. She was so hopeful. When she and her husband were debating about whether to keep persevering, she

would have said, “It is normal for the first year or two to be really hard. It will get better.”

And it is. It is better.

When I look back at that woman with five children aged four and younger, I shudder. People tell me I was so brave. I think I was insane.

It was insane to force a sensitive, anxious four year old firstborn boy to share his house, parents and life with a traumatised foster child only two months his junior, throw two two year old girls still in nappies into the mix, plus a newborn baby; all in the care of two flawed human beings in their twenties.

No wonder I had to be medicated for depression for a year.

I was so confident of my ability to be this all loving, all capable wonder mother. My expectations of myself were too high, and I have had to make peace with being “good enough”. I was used to parenting two young children with whom I shared a secure attachment, I didn’t realise how different it would be with children who had different genes and temperaments, and who both had experienced attachment trauma.

I now have six children aged eight and younger, and I can guarantee that this is easier than five under the age of five.

The children are more independent. Four of them are in school, and they can dress themselves, make their own breakfast and entertain one another. Even Mr J is finally toilet trained. Hallelujah!

So why am I still whining? Harping on about the same old things…

It’s normal for some kids to be fussy eaters. It’s normal for siblings to fight. It’s normal for kids to go through stages of ‘talking back’, lying and testing limits.

Aren’t I used to it yet?!

That’s the thing. I think I am used to it. I am tired. I think that I have lost hope.

I am currently wallowing in a season of self pity. Feeling sorry for myself because I’m sick of trying to feed eight people every day, trying to shop with a demanding young boy and cook with a teething baby in my arms. Feeling constantly torn between letting my son watch too much TV because it makes him happy and paying the price when I say no to him, being nagged or hours to cave. I’m sick of the rude looks I get, the eye rolling and grimacing when I talk to Miss L. I’m frustrated by how difficult it is to have a genuine relationship with Miss A, when she is contrary. For everything we say, she has some kind of negative response, or she tries to say the opposite.

My friend: Are you looking forward to camping? Miss A: No.

Me: Movie day is coming up at your school. Miss A:. I don’t want to go. I want to stay at school.

Kids: These seat belt buckles feel hot! Miss A: Mine doesn’t. It feels ice cold.

Miss L: Aww, the jacaranda leaves are falling. That’s sad. Miss A: Yay!

Kids: this smoke is so stinky! It’s making it hard for me to breathe. Miss A: I can’t smell any bush smoke. The air smells fresh to me!

Mr E: I miss the Clone Wars TV show.

Miss A: I don’t.

Mr E: Why not? It has lots of girl characters.

Miss A: I don’t like girl characters. Only boy characters.

Mr E: It has lots of boy characters too!

Miss A: I like zero boy characters and zero girl characters.

She is so impossible to please that she complained when I made pancakes for dinner last night. Yes, I made pancakes for dinner. That is how much I am resenting cooking dinner at the moment. And I like cooking!

In four years of caring for the girls, Miss A has never let me do “mum things” for her. She never let me do her hair, or get the knots out for for her, which was embarrassing yesterday when the hairdresser struggled to untangle her thick hair. She taught herself to tie her shoelaces and never let me help her. It felt like a kick in the guts recently when she asked my friend to stop in the middle of the street and tie up her laces.

My counsellor told me that I need to learn not to take things personally when Miss A does not like my cooking, or does not want my help. I’m trying, but it does actually feel personal. The girl loves sushi and curried egg sandwiches, so she is clearly comfortable with some strong flavours; yet she suffers through my creamy pasta or bolognese.

I constantly feel rejected by her, but I also know that I don’t fill her love bucket the way she would like it to be filled. She tells me she loves me, and I tell her that I love her back. We hug. But there is so much fighting between us, I wonder if it is enough. I imagine that we are like two negatively charged magnets, trying to come together but not clicking into place, just skimming around the edges.

I know that I am not the only mum grappling with endless washing and housework.When I think of working mums who have to juggle jobs with kids, cooking and housework; I am in awe of them. They have to do all that I am complain about, and more! I feel like I have no excuse not to get it all done, but the days go by so quickly and the baby consumes so much of my time, the children need my help and intervention. It must be hard for them to be vying for scraps of my attention and affection.

Then there is the sound of the children fighting. One mess after another.

None of this is unique. I am not the only one struggling to get by.

I feel depleted.

I feel disrespected.

I feel under appreciated.

I am lonely but I am never alone.

People tell me that I am such a good mum because I look so calm with the kids.

I look calm with the kids because I am out of the house. I am in public. You are watching me.

You don’t see my worst moments. Or maybe you are a close friend, or in my family, and then you might have some idea. You don’t hear my inner thoughts, or see the sin in my heart.

You might ask how I am going and I reply “alive!” We laugh.

I might seem ok when I am talking to you, and that is because I am enjoying your company.

Or I might not seem ok. I might seem a little aloof. Somewhat distracted. Unhappy.

I’m not OK.

But at the same time… I am OK.

And that is OK.

I have a lot to look forward to. I know that I am very loved and needed. There is plenty in my life that makes me happy. Being a full time mum is very tiring. It is messy and all-consuming and not very glamorous. There is a lot of cleaning up of vomit and faeces involved.

I am real with you because I want you to be real with me.

I will come through the other side of this.