It used to be this way a few years back, when I was working in one of my full time jobs. There were a few staff members there that I didn’t get along well with. In fact, I think they sort of hated me. I’d often find myself hiding out in my car on my lunch break, on the phone to my husband in tears. Sometimes it was just like high school – and to be honest, I mostly enjoyed my school years – but what I mean is that these girls who were supposed to be professional adults, were mean and bitchy and childish. One of them even gave me the silent treatment once – for three whole days she acted like I didn’t exist, which really, when you think about it – was quite bizarre.

But the point is, each Friday the weekend would stretch out before me. I was free. I relaxed, I went out with friends, saw a movie with my husband, I forgot about work. And then Sunday night would creep up on me. And as the hours ticked by, I’d become slowly aware of a knot that had begun to twist in my stomach. By the time I was heading to bed, I was a shuddering ball of anxiety. I didn’t want to go back. I didn’t want to face them again. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing and have them snap at me. One time, two of these girls asked me to come outside with them so that they could ‘have a talk’ with me. When were down the stairs and out the front of the office, they kindly explained why they didn’t like me – or the way that I worked.

But look, I’m getting off topic here – because the point that I’m trying to make – is that Sunday nights are starting to turn for me once again. But this time it’s because I have no where to go tomorrow. And what’s ridiculous is that back in those days – I would have killed to be able to say, “I’m never coming back to this office. Instead I’m staying home with two beautiful girls and we’ll do whatever we want for the day.” And now, here I am – with what should be a perfect life. But this mother-effing thing called depression is holding me back. It’s making me wish that I could catch hold of my husband’s wrist as he heads out the front door to ride his bike to the station and say  ‘no, don’t go. Just stay with me… a little bit longer.’ It’s making me fantasise about having a full time job again, about being surrounded by people, about feeling respected, meeting deadlines, holding face to face conversations with someone my age. And there it is again, at ten to eleven on a sunday night, there’s that dead weight of anxiety – pressing against my chest so I have to catch my breath, curling up in my stomach, pinching the back of my neck.

But maybe, just maybe, it’s time I got a little perspective. Maybe I should take a few deep breaths and think about what I have to be grateful for. Maybe I should remember that those two small girls and me – we could take a walk to the park if we liked. We could sit and do some arts and crafts together. In fact, Maddie and I saw something today on Mister Maker that we planned to make together, so maybe that ought to be on the to do list for first thing tomorrow morning. Not only that – we have family close by, so we could always go for a visit to Grandma’s house. I could take the girls to the shops and have a coffee while they have ‘baby cup of ccinos’ (as Maddie likes to call it). And tomorrow night, just after seven, Steve will be back home, and a little while after that – I’ll head out to indoor soccer. Then the next day, the girls will go to preschool, and I’ll go to uni. And so my week will go on. And you know what? In comparison to what it was like back in those days when I worked at that awful job that I hated so damn much – this life kicks ass.

Guess what?

My stomach just started to feel a little better.