Mum’s Worn Out: Tales of an Exhausted Mother

Mums Worn Out

Helen was shouting at the cashier so fiercely that the poor womans hands were trembling.

How much longer are you going to faff about?! If you cant do your job properly, perhaps you should just stay at home!

Im sorry, the elderly woman said, trying to scan the groceries even faster, though she was already rushing.

Helen her husband, Michael, gently touched her elbow, thats enough now. Lets go.

Helen whipped around to him. Oh, just be quiet! Did anyone ask you?

Michael looked away, guilt burning on his cheeks, and fell silent. He always did.

***

At home, the aroma of roasted chicken mingled with bay leaf drifted through the flat. Her mother-in-law, Joan Clark, was at the stove, stirring a pot of soup.

Oh, youre back! Ive made some chicken noodle soup. Come, let me feed you both.

Ive told you a hundred timesdont touch my kitchen! Helen hissed. Are you living here now, or just visiting?

Joan turned pale and put her spoon down, hands shaking.

I just thought Id help…

I dont need your help! I manage fine on my own!

From the sitting room, seven-year-old Jamie darted in.

Mum, hi! Charlie from next door said Im a wimp! Im not a wimp, am I?

Go away! Helen barked. Cant you see Im busy?

Jamie froze, looking at his grandmother. Joan dropped her gaze.

Helen stormed off to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

***

They always lived like this.

Each day bled into the next. Helen woke up angry, went to bed angry, and spent the hours between shouting at anyone in her pathher husband, her mother-in-law, her son, shop assistants, colleagues, even random passers-by.

Sometimesrarelya thought flickered in her mind: Good Lord, what am I doing? But it always disappeared into a black void with no way out.

Michael endured. He was used to it. Ten years of marriage had taught him one thing: to keep his head down and his mouth shut.

He worked two jobs, brought in the money, did whatever she asked. At night, once Helen had finally fallen asleep, hed slip into the kitchen, sip his tea, staring out the window for ages, deep in thought.

Joan had arrived three months ago, to help with Jamie, while his parents worked.

She agreed, but every day she endured Helens burning looks of anger.

And Jamie… Jamie just lived. He ran around, played, and asked questions. But every time he went to his mother, he ran into a wall.

At first he cried. Then he stopped. He would go to his grandmother, sit quietly beside herthat way, it was peaceful.

***

Friday brought what happened far too often.

Helen stormed home from work, nearly shaking with rageher boss had yelled at her, a colleague had thrown her under the bus, someone stepped on her foot on the Underground.

Minutes before shed walked in, Jamie had spilt red juice all over the new beige sofastill on store credit.

He froze next to the empty glass, eyes wide with horror at the spreading stain.

What have you done?! Helen shrieked, coming through the door. Do you even know how much this sofa cost?!

Im sorry, Mum. Please dont shout at me. Youre scaring me…

Oh, youre scared, are you? Helen grew even angrier. All youre good for is breaking things! My lifes a misery because of you!

Mum, Im sorry…

Go to your room! I dont want to see you!

Jamie disappeared. Helen kept screamingat nothinguntil her voice was hoarse.

***

That night, Helen couldnt sleep. She wandered to the kitchen and sat by the window. Rain drizzled softly against the glass.

She watched the droplets slip down, consumed by the thought that she was fed up. She wished it would all end. That everyone would just leave her be. That peace would finally come.

She didnt notice when she dozed off at the table.

She woke, shivering, around four in the morning.

The flat was quiet. Michael was asleep. Joan was asleep. Jamie, too.

Helen got up and went to the loo. On her way back, she passed Jamies doorslightly ajar. She peeked in to check if he was tucked under the covers.

Jamie was curled up, hugging his pillow. On the little desk beside him sat his exercise bookordinary, squared paper, but doodled all over with tanks.

Helen was about to leave, when something on the page caught her eye:

Mum.

She picked up the exercise book. Settled herself on the edge of his bed, and began to read.

It was a diary.

The first entry was in September.

Today Mum shouted again. Dad said shes just tired. I wanted to hug her, but she pushed me away. Maybe its because Im bad.

Helens throat tightened. She turned the page.

October. Its Grans birthday. I drew her a card, with flowers. I wanted to give it to her this morning. But Mum shouted at Dad again, so I didnt. I put it under my pillow. Maybe Ill give it to her tomorrow, when Mums not at home.

Next page.

November. I broke the toy car Dad gave me. On purpose. I thought if I smashed my own toy, maybe she wouldnt shout. But she still shouted. She said I dont value anything. That Im stupid.

Helens hands began to shake.

December. Christmas soon. I wrote a letter to Father Christmas. I asked if he could make Mum stop shouting. I suppose you cant give that sort of present.

January. At school we had to write what we want to be when we grow up. I put, I want to be invisible. So Mum wont see me, and never shout. My teacher was surprised and rang Dad. He came in, spoke to me. He said Mums really a good person, just having a hard time. I know. I remember what she was like before. She used to hug me. And laugh. She never laughs now.

Helen sat frozen, tears blotting the ink on the page.

February. Today I spilt juice on the sofa. Mum shouted for ages.
When she shouts, it feels like I die in bits. First my ears, then my heart, then my soul. I lay down and shut my eyes. I wondered, if I died in my sleep, would she cry? Or just say, Well, thats one less problem?

The book slipped from Helens hands. Her shoulders shook, but she made no sound. She was terrified of waking her son, terrified he might see her like this. Afraid of everything.

She sat there a long time. Twenty minutes, maybe an hour. Then she picked up the diary, put it back on the desk, and slipped away.

She returned to bed and laid down next to Michael, staring at the ceiling until morning.

***

Jamie was the first to wake.

He opened his eyes, stretched, sat up. He saw the door was still ajarand remembered last night. He sighed.

He padded to the hall and listened. Silence. Odd. By now, his mum was usually banging dishes about and barking that everyone was lazy and slow.

He peered into the kitchen.

Mum sat at the table. Not shouting, not banging, just sitting and gazing out the window. Before her sat a mug of tea, long cold.

Mum? Jamie asked quietly.

She looked round; her expression was strangenot angry, not weary, just changed. Jamie couldnt place it.

Good morning, Helen said softly. Come and have your breakfast.

He sat at the table. Mum set a bowl of porridge before him, then sat opposite.

Jamie ate, glancing at his mother, waiting for the familiar tirade to begin. But nothing happened.

Mum, he ventured at last, whats wrong?

Nothing.

Why arent you talking?

Im thinking.

What about?

Helen looked him over, long and searching. Then she reached out and stroked his hair, for no reason at all.

About you, she murmured. About us.

Jamie froze, spoon in mid-air.

Mum, are you ill?

No, love. Quite the opposite. I thinkIm starting to get better.

He didnt understand, but nodded. It didnt matter to himso long as she wasnt shouting.

Finish up, Helen said. Time for school.

Jamie drained his tea, got up, and went to get ready. By the door he paused.

Mum, he said, embarrassed, this eveningwill you will you shout again?

Helen knelt down to his level.

Listen to me, she told him firmly. I cant promise Ill never shout again. But Ill try my hardest not to. So you dont ever have to be frightened anymore, do you understand?

Jamie nodded.

And if you do? he whispered.

If I dojust tell me, Youre doing it again. Ill remember.

Remember what?

Everything, she said, kissing his forehead. Go on, now.

Jamie left.

Helen stood at the front door, listening as the lift doors rattled shut. Then there was silence.

Michael wandered from the bedroom, bleary-eyed and rumpled.

Youre up early, he said.

Couldnt sleep.

He looked at her, properly, for the first time in weeks.

You alright?

Im fine, Helen replied. Go have your breakfast.

Her husband went to the kitchen. Helen followed.

They sat down together. Michael poured his tea.

Michael, Helen asked suddenly, why do you love me?

He choked on his tea.

Come again?

Why do you love me? ImIve become a monster.

Michael set his mug down and looked her in the eyes.

Youre not a monster, he said. Youve just forgotten who you are.

And whos that?

Youre all sorts, he chuckled. I remember. You can be warm, funny, gentle. Your hugs are so tight you nearly break my ribs. I remember it all, Helen. Youve just forgotten

Helen was silent.

I still wait for the day you come back, added Michael. However long it takes, Ill wait.

She reached across, squeezing his hand.

***

That day, she didnt raise her voice once.

Jamie came home from school. He dropped his bag and ran to hug her, just because.

Mum, I got an A today!

Well done! Helen praised him. Im proud of you!

He stared, surprised.

Really?

Really.

Jamie beameda real, wide grin she hadnt seen in ages.

Mum, you know, he said shyly, I thought at school today, maybe youd hug me when I got home. And you did.

Silly boy, Helen said, hugging him tight. From now on, Ill hug you every day. Promise!

***

That evening, Helen tiptoed into his room. Jamie was asleep. The exercise book was still on his desk.

She picked it up, opened to the last page, and taking a pen, scribbled beneath his words:

My darling boy, I love you so very much. Forgive me. I promise, Ill try my hardest.
MumShe set the book gently back on the desk and smoothed Jamies hair. He stirred, eyelids fluttering, then settled into sleep again, his lips curling into the faintest smile.

Helen tiptoed out, but before closing the door, she glanced once more at her sonhis small chest rising and falling, the tiniest hint of hope stitched through every breath.

In the hallway, Helen paused, hand pressed to her chest. She could hear Joan quietly humming in the kitchen, the soft clink of cups as she made tea. Michael was reading in the sitting rooma comfort just to know he was there.

Helen walked to the kitchen.

Joan?

Her mother-in-law looked up, startled. Helen hesitated, swallowed, then softly said, Would you like to have some tea with me?

Joans eyes widened, hope mingling with disbelief. Yes, Id like that very much.

They sat side by side, warming their hands around their mugs. For a long while, neither spoke.

Through the open window drifted the laughter of children on the street below, and the smell of early spring rain. Helen took it in, letting each moment settle quietly upon her.

Im sorry, she whispered at last. For everything.

Joan reached over and patted her hand. We all fall down, love. Its what we do when we get back up that counts.

Helen nodded, tears prickling her eyes againso many tears, she thought, after so many years without any.

But tonight, the tears were different. They were the kind that washed the dust from old memories, that cleared a path ahead.

Later, when the flat was silent and the city was a hush of lights, Helen lay in bed, Michaels arm wrapped gently around her.

She knew there would be hard days to comebad ones, even. But for the first time in as long as she could remember, hope flickered at the end of the darkness, quiet but real.

And as she drifted toward sleep, she whispered a silent vow: I will remember. I will try. I will loveand I will let them love me back.

In the stillness, Helen finally felt herself, at last, coming home.