I’ve mentioned before that a lot of our moving on process has been “good days and bad days”, much the same as illness or grief. I think all parents have good days and bad days, to be honest. All people, even.
Sometimes I have bad days. Really bad days. Days where I can’t shake the memory of my daughter’s disclosure. Sometimes I can still hear the police officer repeating the charge to my shocked expression, and I still remember throwing up bile in the tiny station toilet after she did, wondering if I was supposed to have taken it better. I have days where I feel bitter and angry that X’s family continued to support him. I sometimes feel like it isn’t fair that they should be getting on with their lives, when they openly defend him. I have days when the best thing I can do is take a valium and cry in bed.
The reason I am sharing this is because I realised that I haven’t been. My blog is supposed to help anyone who has gone through a similar trauma, so I try to keep it upbeat where possible. I know most people don’t know what to say when the ugly side of our situation comes up. But in order to show you that people can survive this and put their lives back together, I must also be honest, and let you know that there are bad days. Sometimes just a little bad, and sometimes so bad that you may find yourself holding back tears in public, or silently screaming into a glass of strong liquor, in the bath at two in the morning.
And that’s okay. You’re entitled to that.