Lemonade

December is an exciting month. Christmas beckons, the end of the old year looms and the promise of a new one draws near.
It can see you reflect on your year, usually focusing on what you perceive to be your failures during it, human nature once again letting our self esteem down. You start to cogitate on what you could have done differently, what your real mistakes were, castigating yourself for your hesitancy, for your caution.

You may even start to think further back, as events spring up and prick at your memory.

This has happened to me this week, with The Boy being ill bringing back those memories from years past.

I also reflected on what set me off on the journey of finding out who I really am, and nothing can trawl up the past like a depressive having a bad week.

On 22nd December 2003, I found out that my long term partner was having an affair. It was not a fun Christmas. I cried quite a lot.

Various Christmas’ have passed since. Some have been lonely, with my terrified of being the only grown up the Christmas I was pregnant with Lily. Some haven’t. Even so, that’s no different to my past Christmas’, which were all very lonely and completely dictated by other people’s timetables.

Last year, the kids and I had a lock in. We stayed in our pyjamas, ate nothing but chocolate and crisps, watched a Doctor Who box set, and generally had a smashing time. So good, we’re doing the same this year.

Thanks to my ex, but most importantly thanks to the lady he had an affair with, I have a daughter I wouldn’t otherwise have. I have a life that often lacks money but never lacks excitement or charm, and I’m starting to build up a really nice group of friends who like me for me, rather than what I can do for them.

I think of her every year, and although that first year I hated her, now I couldn’t be more grateful.

I hope she’s happy. I hope they both are. I hope that she doesn’t have to run away from things like I used to when I was with him. I hope she gets to be herself. I hope that he doesn’t try to batter her down. I hope she annoys the living shit out of him like I used to.

Most of all, I really hope she doesn’t have to live through what I did because I think it would destroy her.

The good thing about coming from working class stock is that you learn early on how to cope. You learn to rely on yourself. You develop skills to deal with problems. You think outside the box. You get things done. You encounter issues and crack on – you may whinge but you get on with it, see the hand you’re dealt and use it the best you can. Your journey isn’t the middle class ‘go travelling, have a year out, stay at a hotel when you’re at a festival, get bailed out by your parents if you get into trouble’ one. Mostly you’re okay that your journey is going to twist more than other peoples, be a little more complex.

So, when you get given lemons you try to make lemonade. Sometimes it’s a pretty crappy attempt that’s flat, sour and unpleasant, but you try.

I’m not great. I’m well aware that I fail in many areas. I always try. Even when I’m pretending I can’t be fagged anymore, I keep trying because I do care, I want to be better, both in my mental health and as a person.

In becoming me, there are a lot of people to thank, from my far away past, from recent times, but someone that really contributed was that young lady.

I sincerely thank her.  Nothing teaches you to make lemonade quicker than a bad experience that you actually learn from, an experience that makes you change who you are, especially when you realise that you were actually an arsehole before it happened, and the event has made you change.

Happy Christmas all.  Try to remember that, no matter the situation, there is good that can come of it.  There is positivity to be gained.  There is lemonade to be made.