October

October.The tenth month of the Gregorian calendar. The most beautiful month of the year for some. And the most painful month of the year for others.

The month of breast cancer and mental health awareness, and heart-wrenching suicides. The final exam preparation month. The second-last month of the year (because December doesn’t count for anything other than too much sun and too much fun).

The birth month of Libras, the zodiac’s most charming and just. And the month that unapologetically says ‘rebirth, reawakening and spring’.

The month that hits hard and loves sweetly.

This October has been all that and a million other things for me and the two boy-man specimens I share my heart and home with.

It’s been rocky at times.

Troll 1’s grades were catastrophic. And with a penchant for bunking school and deadpanning when he tells those little white lies, the kid I thought I didn’t have to worry about became the only thing I did.

We had hard conversations in October, my firstborn and I. We clashed, we cried, we fought. We sulked (mostly him) and we made amends (mostly me). We got through it. And while it is true that life is not about the destination but the journey, we’re finding out that our journey, slowly but surely, is becoming less rocky, and more smooth sailing.

I’ve thrown him into an afternoon study regimen and as much as I know he hates it, I can also see that he’s trying. Trying to concentrate more, trying to stick to the plan, trying to do better.

We’ve had good times too. There’s been a steady increase in the amount of morning hugs I receive, and lately I’ve been hearing ‘love you, Mom’ more and more frequently when he dashes out of the door.

We’ve also bonded over… facial hair. My 14-year-old stud muffin is one hairy boy, and this month, we finally got to shaving cream and Googleing how to shave a moustache. Because I’ve never had one to shave, and literally didn’t know where to start. Google is the husband I never had, guys. I swear.

He looks pretty now. Younger. Cleaner. I’m proud in an ‘I want to cry when I look at you’ kind of way.

Which is another thing I’ve been doing a lot of this month. Bawling my eyes out.

On the couch. On the kitchen floor. In the shower. Pretty much anywhere the fancy strikes.

I’ve cried over deep-seated fears and insecurities I can never voice for fear that they will not be understood. I’ve cried over how afraid I am to face the future. I’ve cried because I suffer from severe anxiety disorder and more often than not, my disease is so crippling I wonder whether I will ever be able to live a normal life, have a normal relationship or feel like a normal person.

And I’ve laughed. And danced. And reconnected with parts of myself that sparkle effortlessly.

I’ve had amazing dinners and nights where I throw the cereal box at them and say “there. I’m not your slave”.

Through it all, I tried to breathe. Because when a month comes around which forces you to spring-clean yourself from the inside out, that’s all you can do. Breathe.

– urbansinglemom@gmail.com

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