On Not Being Him

I got back from the West Country late on Wednesday. Three trips in one week. Two down to the West Country, one out east for the East of England Power Platform Summit.

By the time I was driving home, I could feel it. The week had caught up with me. I knew what I was walking into too. Kids wanting to see me and the version of me that had been switched on for fourteen hours straight needed to find another gear.

That’s the thing about doing what I do.

I genuinely love the occasional travel. I like meeting up with people and the drive is decompression time on either side. The summit was brilliant. Duncan Boyne and his team did the real heavy lifting and I was lucky to be part of it. I love being in rooms full of people who care about the same things I do.

But there’s a cost.

And most of that cost isn’t paid by me. It’s paid by the people at home.

When my eldest, was born, I made a quiet promise to myself.

My own dad wasn’t really a dad. Not in any way that mattered. So I decided I’d be the opposite. Whatever he did, I’d do the reverse. Whatever he wasn’t, I’d be.

It sounds noble. It also turns out to be exhausting.

Because when you build yourself entirely in reaction to someone else, you’re still letting them define you. You’re still measuring yourself against what bad looks like, instead of figuring out what good actually means for you.

It took me a long time to see that. Therapy helped. More than one kind. More than one brilliant counsellor. If anyone reading this ever wants to talk about that side of things, my inbox is open. I’m not precious about it.

Then there was the ADHD diagnosis. Later than it should have been.

For years, I was told I had generalised anxiety disorder. I accepted the label and carried it around. Looking back, I don’t think most of it was anxiety at all. It was a brain doing too much, all the time, with no off switch.

Medication has been a quiet revolution. No drama. No miracle cure. There are still hard days.

But I have something I never really had before.

A stop button.

Here’s something else I’ve learned about myself.

I’m a magpie.

Something new and shiny appears and I’m gone. A few weeks ago, I decided I’d start walking. I walked thirty miles that week. Then I started taking the neighbour’s dog out every other day. Not because I’d planned it. Just because the shine was there.

At work, this is mostly a gift.

I meet a new colleague or client and I can build a real relationship inside an hour. I get curious quickly. I care quickly. People feel it, and good things tend to follow.

At home, it’s more complicated.

The same engine that makes me a useful consultant doesn’t always make me a great parent. Moderation isn’t really my strength, especially with anything new. I latch on. I go deep. And when I’m done, I’m already scanning for the next shiny thing.

Family life doesn’t work like that.

Family life is the same shiny things, every day.

The school run.
The bedtime story.
The after school taxi service to clubs.

The quiet, repetitive, unglamorous work of being there. However, something I have realised right in this moment. The children are my magpie focus. They are evolving and changing all the time, so it’s that shiny thing I must tap into.

Somewhere on the M4 this week, I caught myself thinking three things at once.

I love this.
I’m tired.
I miss them.

All true. At the same time.

What am I learning?

That the version of myself I tried to build, the exact opposite of my dad, was never really a person. It was a reaction.

The kind of parenting I actually want to do isn’t about not being him.

It’s about being there.

Being present.
Being consistent.
Showing up.

I haven’t got it figured out.

I’m still the magpie. I still drive home from brilliant weeks feeling slightly hollowed out. I still have to remind myself that the people at home don’t need the polished version of me.

They just need me.

The medication helps.
The therapy helped.
The honesty helps most.

If there’s one thing I keep coming back to, it’s this.

You don’t have to be the opposite of anyone.

You just have to be there.

The stairs are behind me. Let’s see how today goes.