So here goes…my first post. It has been brewing for a while now. I have to let it out. I can no longer hold it in like I try to hold a fart in on a crowded train.

I love my kids, I do. But I hate being a mum. I hate the endless need for my attention, the cleaning and washing, the repetitive request for this that and the other, the constant nagging for them to wash their hands, play nice, wear their shoes, the lack of time to do anything at a leisurely pace until they’re in bed, the rushed meals and sex, the communication over Whatsapp because we don’t have time or energy to talk anymore.

And I feel guilty for feeling all these emotions. I feel guilty that I’m not one of those mothers who love mothering, love cuddling the kids to sleep, believing they grow up so fast.

I feel scared I can’t provide for them cos I’m not making enough to save up anything for my retirement. I’m scared to be called a fraud after all these years, that I’m not a real mother, just someone who bore these children.

I feel resentful and slightly bitter I’ve to work when the other half stays home all day. Occasionally he does a good job but most days I don’t know what he does. I feel resentful that he expects me to feel sexy after a long day at work and having to come back to mummy duties.

I feel angry that I’ve been passed over for opportunities at work because “oh she has young children who need her.”

I am sick of it all and feel trapped.

I feel resigned that this is the way things will be until the kids grow bigger. Until then, this is my secret. This is my daily cross to bear.