Lotte Lane

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Sometimes I play the martyr…

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Martyr

It’s not a part of my personality I’m particularly fond of – but I DO have the tendency to be a bit martyr-y.

Realised it yesterday morning when I found myself seething.

I was cross because I had ONCE AGAIN been the one who got up with the baby (even though at 5am I’d said to Dave “oh don’t worry, I’ll get up, you lie in”).

I was cross because it was now 8am and I had done nothing but house crap and child shit since I got up, and *everyone else* had eaten breakfast except me cos I was too busy administrating vegetables.

Mostly though I was cross because no-one noticed my PLIGHT, and I was cross with myself for prioritising my kitchen anguish over my own needs.

NO-ONES CARES YOU’VE DONE TWO LOADS OF LAUNDRY AND CLEANED THE FRIDGE AND TEXTED YOUR SISTER-IN-LAW BEETROOT RECIPES, LOTTE. IT’S NOT GALLANT OR NOBLE IF YOU CHOOSE TO DO THIS STUFF BEFORE YOU LET YOURSELF EAT. IT’S STUPID. NO-ONE IS MAKING YOU DO THIS SHIT. YOU’RE NOT CINDER-FUCKING-ELLA, OR A WAR HERO, OR A WICKLE KITTEN STUCK UP A SODDING TREE. YOU’RE LOTTE. YOU’RE HUNGRY. EAT SOME FUCKING TOAST, AND STOP TRYING TO MAKE YOURSELF FEEL CONSEQUENTIAL BY DELIBERATELY COURTING DIFFICULTY.

The alarming thing is, writing this down I realise I’ve been playing this role on the side for YEARS.

Motherhood may have brought my martyr-y streak out of me full force (because effectively they do always come first), but looking back I see it in all sorts of behaviour over the years. Toiling in jobs I hated, giving too much in relationships, belittling myself and my needs.

Jesus, when I was a kid and my friends were playing princesses, I’d always insist on being THE MAID.

WTF is wrong with me?!

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