Just been out with Mabel (my rescue collie) along the canal towpath. Proper crisp morning here in Leeds, and I swear these walks are what keep me sane some days.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately — how we’re always told to ‘look after ourselves’ but when you’re missing your kids, self-care can feel… selfish? Like how can I enjoy anything when they’re not here?
But I’m learning (slowly) that falling apart doesn’t help anyone. Especially not when — fingers crossed — they might be ready to let me back in. My youngest replied to my birthday card last month, just a simple ‘thanks mum x’ but it was everything. And I want to be… whole when she’s ready for more.
So my little rituals: Sunday morning coffee in my favourite mug (the wonky one she made me in year 3 pottery class). I actually look forward to it now. And I’ve started painting again — nothing fancy, just watercolours of the moors. Something about watching colours bleed into each other feels… healing, I suppose.
Mabel’s been a godsend too. She needed rescuing, I needed something to care for. We’re a right pair, but she gets me out the house every day rain or shine. Sometimes I tell her all about the girls as we walk. She’s a good listener.
I used to feel guilty about moments of peace, you know? Like I was betraying them by not being miserable every second. But actually… I think they deserve a mum who hasn’t completely lost herself. When they’re ready to come home — even if it’s just for a coffee — I want to be someone they recognise.
What about you lot? What are the small things that keep you ticking? Not talking about big life changes here, just the tiny anchors that get you through another day.
Oh god, I could have written this exact post two years ago. The guilt around feeling anything but devastation was eating me alive for the longest time.
I’m three years in now, three kids in Bristol who won’t see me, and I’ve had to learn this the hard way. My therapist Sarah used to say ‘you can’t pour from an empty cup’ and I’d roll my eyes because it sounded like Instagram bullshit. But she was right. The version of me that was completely falling apart, barely sleeping, living on toast and tea — that wasn’t the mum they needed to come back to when they were ready.
My anchors are probably boring to most people but they’ve saved my life honestly. Morning meditation — just ten minutes with the Insight Timer app, nothing fancy. Started doing it when I literally couldn’t stop the spiral of thoughts about what they might be thinking of me. And journaling. Pages and pages of absolute rambling nonsense most days, but getting it out of my head and onto paper stops me from going completely mad. There’s something about handwriting that feels more real than typing somehow. I’ve got about fifteen notebooks now, all filled with this mess of grief and hope and tiny victories.
Your walks with Mabel sound perfect. I think our kids would want us to have those moments of peace, you know? They loved us once — they still do somewhere underneath all this mess. When my middle one finally calls or texts, I want her to hear lightness in my voice again, not just this hollow echo of who I used to be.
This really got to me. I’m still so new to all this — my ex moved the kids to the South Island six months ago and I’m still reeling, to be honest.
The guilt thing… yeah. I felt awful the first time I actually laughed at something on TV after they left. Like, how dare I have a normal moment? But you’re right about needing to be whole when they’re ready. My lawyer keeps saying the Hague Convention stuff could take years, and I can’t just… disappear into myself for years, can I?
My thing is probably baking. Sounds daft, but I make these lemon slice bars that my daughter Emma loved. I freeze them in portions and tell myself she’ll want them when she visits. Even if that visit feels impossible right now. At least my hands are busy and the kitchen smells like home.
This really hits home. My daughter’s been back in touch for about 6 months now and I’ve had to learn not to be a complete mess when she calls — turns out being the “broken dad” wasn’t actually helping anyone.
Walking’s been huge for me too, just different scenery here in Melbourne. And yeah, that guilt about having good moments… I reckon she needs to see I’m still the dad she remembers, not just someone who’s been waiting in the corner all this time.