Late at night when I can't sleep

Late at night when I can't sleep

February 13, 2019 From that blog I started but closed down again 

I woke up, thinking “Yippee, I slept through the night!” and proceeded to check the time on my phone - suspecting it would be just a few minutes before the alarm would go off.

Ha! It was 03:00 am. So no, I guess I didn’t sleep through the night.

It’s been a hard few nights. Or maybe it’s been a week. Not sure. Trying to write it down, to notice patterns. But actually, no need to notice any patterns, or the moon, or the cycle even, because I know what the problem is.

The last few days have been an insane ride of trying to get back to work. I have been looking for work in a more casual way since the beginning of November, with a lot of random no’s and rejections that I haven’t taken too seriously, because I thought I had time.

But the more no’s and rejections I’ve received, the more worried I’ve become. And now, since the start of February - basically since the new moon which fell in my second house of money - it’s been a nonstop ride to try and figure out this economy thing once and for all. Or just once. Or just… temporarily. I just need it solved. That’s all. Punto.

I’m in a rollercoaster of unemployment office, social workers, interviews, applications and CV-making. And the one thing that I can’t get my head around is:

It’s not adding up.

As a single mother living in Spain, it’s not adding up. Okay, had I been living in Andalucía or Extremadura, I would have been fine. But I happen to live on an island that is absolutely not representative of the economy in this country, but is still run as if it was representative of this country. The rents are sky high and comparable to those of London and Paris while the salaries are very low and working hours long. It doesn’t add up!

My head is twisting around the numbers. Literally. My brain is in knots.

The child support that my ex is currently paying me only covers my debts - debts I have from investing in our business, and debts from my wonderful, care free student days.

My rent is sky high, and looking at apartments for rent online, I don’t see much other options. Looking around at other mothers on this island, I see women with support in the shape of grandparents, sisters and other extended family. Most of them owning property, so not paying rent. Renting their property to people like me. They call Ibiza a bubble, a real estate bubble, which eventually and inevitably will burst; but until it does, I’m fucked.

So no wonder I don’t sleep at night. My mind is literally SPINNING. BUZZING. ELECTRIC!

Last night I made a decision. I told myself: “Take a break, dear. Be thankful for your two healthy sleeping children right next to you. Be thankful, because today you got a freelance job and made €100. Use your breath, calm yourself down. Imagine a beautiful place, see happiness, just bask in it for a moment. Give your poor head a rest, because like this, no solutions will show up. Your brain is constricting the flow of new options, new solutions to come forward. Just relax, just for one day.”

So I did. I flicked through my inner library of beautiful places and then I started visualising a moment, something I dream for my future.

A beautiful place in Italy. Summer, deep summer. The bubble of heat is finally bursting and a light breeze caresses my skin. Crickets buzzing, sky turning purple, because it’s almost dark. You know that incredible moment, in deep summer, just before it turns dark?

My body tanned from having spent a week on the beach. My kids impossibly blonde, dressed up for dinner. Wearing linen shirts and unruly blonde hair finally combed into place, if even just for this moment. Playing football, with Him. My love. Me, watching, laughing. Tanned little limbs, running after the ball, so fast that I can hardly distinguish one leg from the other in the half darkness, their pearly white teeth almost translucent as they laugh.

My love, also tanned, his dark shiny long hair in a loose ponytail. Dressed up for dinner, in his style, that funky weird style that I adore. Shirt loosely buttoned, revealing that hairy chest that I love so much. His thick gold chain, the same one as always.

Me, leaving the boys to play for a little longer, heading to the rooftop restaurant of our rural hotel, ordering a Negroni and getting some juicy olives with it. I am barefoot and I sit crosslegged on the cushions, looking at that purple twilight, breathing deeply, no restrictions anywhere in my being, so grateful for life. The taste of the Negroni, its bitter flavour so filled with meaning and memory, burning its way down my throat as I look down at my boys. So thankful. So alive. So happy.

I fall asleep, and wake up, feeling more at ease.

Taking the day to regroup, answer messages, giving my poor head a break. I was sent a message via a friend; my ex wants to “talk.” No, I say. All we have done for the past 9,5 years is “talk” and each and every time, I come out of it defeated, by all your endless talk and pushing and getting your way and convincing me of how you have changed.

I no longer believe you, I know who you are. I stand my ground. I will NOT back out. I am in ruins, just like you wanted and desired. Just like you promised. But one thing you will never win ever again, and that is my soul. I am mine. My soul can no longer be raped by you. I stand firm. I am mine.

As life all around me looks like an impossible equation, my inner world is richer and stronger than ever. It’s a work of art. It’s my flag, my guiding star, my shining light. I follow my vision. I trust in me. Finally.