It has slowly crept in.
Like a dirty, minging dog into the immaculate and impeccable territory of a house-proud home owner.
This feeling of frustration. Of hopelessness. Of despair. Of “I will never amount to anything much.”
For years now I have longed to be of use. To my husband. To God. To society.
I have prayed. I have blogged. I have enquired. I have applied. I have kept my hope. I have fought.
Yet nothing has happened.
For I am still only a stay at home mummy. I am still only an overqualified yet useless substitute teacher. I am still only a dreamer with big dreams of communities changing through the involvement of the church. Dreaming of the reversal of the curse of generational patterns. I am still only a mummy blogger, like so many other thousands in the UK. I am still only a writer who dreams that her words will one day change and soothe and give hope.
I have so many talents. I have such a desire to help and serve and be of use. I have such love for God and for people in need, for people who need a voice.
And yes, for once in my life, I want to scream. I want to shout. And I don’t want to wait anymore.
I want to see that door of opportunity opening. I want to see that miracle, the miracle that I waited patiently and hopefully for with Georgie. I want for once in my life see that what I believe in is actually real. That one can follow one’s dreams and one can live on passion alone and one can be happy knowing that the work they are doing is actually making a difference in someone’s life.
Why would God put so much beauty and wisdom and love of life in a baby and then take him away?
Why would He put so much potential in me and yet, never ever quite bring it to fruition and to fulfillment?
I have studied success.
I have studied and applied percepts and have striven for spiritual, blogging and material betterment.
I have realised that in most cases success isn’t based necessarily on an algorithm but, depending on what you believe, and what you choose to call it, it comes as a “stroke of luck”, a “blessing from above”, a whim.
And of course I am not owed anything. Of course not.
But then, why do I have this almost suffocating need to make a difference into this world?
Why can’t I be happy with just being a wee mummy living in her wee cosy home with her wee sweet family and never amount to much more?