I need to get out of my head this morning. I feel grumpy and irritable and just plain short fused.

I haven’t been for a run in a week. I planned to run yesterday and today, but my son was up before 5 and came into our bed. He wasn’t back to sleep in time for me to get up at 5, so I chose to sacrifice my run to attempt to get him back to sleep.

I say that I chose this because I know in my head that it is a choice. But my depressive voice is feeling resentful. My childish, selfish depression is shouting, “It’s not fair!”.

I think I am feeling this way because my runs have been decreasing in frequency since we’ve been back in the UK and I’ve started working full time. My fears, which often become self-fulfilling prophecies, were that I wouldn’t be able to run as much while pregnant and that this would lead to a gradual decrease in my mental health. The fact that the pregnancy has nothing to do with the frequency of my runs at this point is irrelevant. They just aren’t happening.

Honestly, it’s been a tough transition and I’m still struggling to find the right balance with the juggling act. While I still feel that going back to work was the right decision for me, I miss my son immensely. And while I love being back in the UK, I don’t have the answers yet to solve this puzzle.

So I will blog about it to at least purge most of it from my head. I need to trust that this is just the best I can do for right now.