Last year started in an epic way. We sold our house, went travelling with our toddler through France and Italy for a few months and then moved into a gorgeous new home. We felt unstoppable.

Then everything crashed in a spectacular fashion.

We knew my husband, Tim’s kidneys were slowly failing, but we weren’t prepared for it to happen so quickly. Life had already changed as his illness progressed, but on the whole we could carry on in our bubble of family, ambition and relative normality.

As soon as we got back from our time away everything became very urgent and our incredible family and friends rallied as we tried to find a match for a transplant that would take place later in the year.

He was extraordinarily lucky to get a new kidney in August last year and although since then he has experienced what seems like no-end of complications, he’s finally beginning to get that mischievous little glint back in his eyes. How I have missed it….

Tim is a bonafide superhero. Literally. A real-life superhuman.

He’s kept going through this debilitating and scary time with the kind of courage and dignity you only see in films. We work for ourselves, so he had no option but to get back to work within two weeks of the op when most people would have been off for months recovering. I will never understand how he did it.

We like to think of ourselves as pretty positive and life-loving people, but this thing has knocked us sideways.

Our lives are forever altered now (there are life-long effects of immunosuppression and the possibility of another transplant in the future) but we’re trying damn hard to remember the people we were before kidney-gate.

We’re trying to piece everything back together and literally LIVE every moment.

We’re trying to honour his amazing donor and their family in the best ways we can and encourage more people to consider organ donation.

We’re trying to make this time count for something and create a brilliant future.
Our little boy lit up this dark time. He wanted us to have fun, laugh and be idiots when we felt like crying. It sounds mega-cheesy, but he gave us strength when we felt weak.

One of the most difficult things I have ever experienced is having to keep my shit together while everything was falling apart.

Things couldn’t just grind to a halt while we dealt with the fallout.

It felt lonely as I tried to stay strong and protect my other half from worrying about me when he had so much else going on.

After a few back-from-the-brink-of-madness episodes, I found that accepting a few things made a huge difference.

1. Having a significant person in your life become unwell is a rollercoaster. (And I am not a rollercoaster kinda girl.) A cliché maybe, but there are going to be good days and bad days and you have no idea what’s coming next. You can’t control that, and that sucks.

But you can control how you deal with the setbacks. Take back any control you can. Renegotiate your relationship and make manageable plans.

We sneaked in a cheeky date-night dinner on our way home from a 12-hour hospital stint once (ok…it was only an hour. We were both pooped, but it made the day so much better).

2. Laughter is GOOD. Let go of feeling guilty about laughing. Have more fun. Dance to music that instantly makes you feel good. Enjoy a few moments of light relief. Forget the black cloud. It makes the worrying times so much easier.

One day while we were waiting for some results I taught our little one the entire alphabet in two hours. It’s going on my CV as one of my biggest achievements.

3. Life has taken on a new shape and there’s a new normal now. Eventually, with dogged determination and sheer bloody-minded defiance, you will feel able to forgive the universe and feel happy with that new normal.

4. People are amazing. They want to help. When you’re fiercely independent, accepting help is tough. But those people held our heads just enough above the water so we could take the odd breath. It’s not always the people you’d expect it would be, either.

Adjust your expectations, reassess your priorities and reach out to them. Let them bring you meals, clean or take the kids. And talk, talk, talk to them. Especially when it’s the hardest thing to do.

5. You’ll burn out unless your wellbeing is a priority too. Slightly obvious, maybe…but I overlooked this one a bit too much. It’s natural for parents to push themselves to the bottom of the pile but you can’t keep it up.

Give yourself permission to feel everything; the despair, grief, fear, pain, anger and everything else. Allow it all to come, because it will pass and give way to something else. If it’s suppressed, it’ll resurface. Be kind to yourself by being proactive about helping yourself.

6. Natural therapies work wonders. Researching approaches that may help is therapeutic itself and makes you feel infinitely less powerless.

Look into alternative therapies, supplements and private treatment options that can complement what the doctors can do with medicine. There’s ALWAYS something that can be done. It may not provide a cure, but it might help alleviate symptoms or support the body in other useful ways.

This time has taught me a lot.

I’ve learned that lots of people in my life would go through agonising surgery for someone they love. I’ve learned that being truly, brutally honest feels like it will be much harder than it actually is. I’ve learned that I’m made of pretty strong stuff.

I’ve learned that the NHS makes miracles happen every single day. I’ve learned that the world is full of compassion, even though we’re led to believe the opposite. I’ve learned that the human mind is beyond extraordinary and that if you want something enough, you’ll do it no matter what might try and stop you.

Having someone you love become ill must be one of the hardest things we can endure. Factor in having to raise small children while the nuclear bomb is going off, and things go up a notch.

You’ve got no choice but to get through. We’ve said we’ll probably look back and wonder how we survived. But we’ll carry on trying to make it count, and looking at everything this has taught us so far, I think we might just be on the right track.

We love our kids. Being a mum makes us understand who we could become and gives us the reason to get on with the business of becoming that better version of ourselves.

Some days being mum is so incredible it all gets a bit overwhelming. Some days it’s just plain hard.

Some days we have thoughts that we feel are so dark, we couldn’t possibly share them with anyone because they would inevitably conclude we’re unworthy of the honour of being in charge of our tiny humans.

I know this because I have had all of these thoughts, and then some.

I know this because (without exception) all the mums I know get through every single day with just their wit, loving instincts and with any luck, some well-earned wine. And some days we judge as more successful than others.

So I find it fascinating that there are so many of us (myself included) who, when talking to our other mum friends, feel a need to sugar coat our thoughts and feelings, as if they’re not entirely normal.

We’re all in the same boat. No matter who we are or where we’ve come from.

We experience pure joy being with our babies, like we’ve never known it before. We thought we’d felt love before. Ha! We all cry like proud nutters when our babies do something new or exciting. We all worry about things that our pre-mum self didn’t even know existed.

And then…we all lose our shit. Regularly. And then instantaneously feel like a guilty, failing mess.

There’s an untold truth about how we feel about the shift in our identities now we’re parents. How we’ve felt lonely when we’re surrounded by people. How we feel so much love for our kids it terrifies us.
We are not alone. Far from it. We’re on one of the biggest level playing fields.

The mums we know get it all. They feel it all too.

But I know lots of mums who are scared to share these truths because they’re petrified of being judged by other mums. So my mission is to make Mumbelievable a sanctuary for mums who want to stop this ridiculous fear of being judged. When did it all get so bloody serious?

I want to say to you, if you are one of those mums:

We’ve got your back. We understand you. We know what you’re talking about. You may not be able to talk to your husband, your mum, sister or friends about this stuff but you can talk to all of us – this community – because we GET IT. Let’s all share in the hilarity.

We get the when-you-love-them-so-much-you-think-you-might-explode bits.

We get the what-the-hell-has-become-of-my-life bits.

And everything in between.

Whether your children are newborn or 30, we’re all on the rollercoaster together.

Welcome to the gang.

I started this blog last summer to try and help other mums to find the strength and time to pull themselves up from the bottom of the pile and start looking after themselves a bit better by making time for exercise.

I needed to do that very thing myself. Over time though, I’ve come to feel like a bit of a fraud because I still find it a massive challenge to make myself and my wellbeing a priority.

So I’ve thought a lot about why we sacrifice ourselves to such an extent.
We’re all just doing our best, and we want to do it without the fear of being judged. We want to feel more confident about every aspect of our lives as we try to create a balance that works for our family.

The parts of the blog and the Facebook page that get the most engagement are nothing to do with fitness. They’re to do with the real aspects of life as a parent, the crazy, funny situations we all find ourselves in. And this is why I’ve decided to take the blog in a slightly different direction, which I’m really excited about.

I find it fascinating that there are so many of us (myself included) who, when talking to our other mum friends, feel a need to sugar coat our thoughts and feelings, as if they’re not entirely normal.

We’re all in the same boat. No matter who we are or where we’ve come from.

We all cry like proud nutters when our babies do something new or exciting. We all worry about things that our pre-mum self didn’t even know existed.

And then…we all lose our shit. Regularly. And then instantaneously feel like a guilty, failing mess.

We’re on one of the biggest level playing fields.

The mums we know get it all. They feel it all too.

I know lots of mums who are scared to share these truths because they’re petrified of being judged by other mums. So my mission is to make Mumbelievable a sanctuary of light relief for mums who want to stop this ridiculous fear of being judged.

I want to say to you, if you are one of those mums:

We’ve got your back. We understand you. We know what you’re talking about. You may not be able to talk to your husband, your mum, sister or friends about this stuff but you can talk to all of us – this community – because we GET IT.

We get the when-you-love-them-so-much-you-think-you-might-burst bits.

We get the what-the-hell-has-become-of-my-life bits.

And everything in between.

Here’s Mumbelievable’s mission:

To create a gang of superwomen who can confidently share every aspect of motherhood – even the tough stuff – without fear of being judged.

Whether your children are newborn or 30, this beautiful struggle is real. And we’re all in it together.

Welcome to the gang.

P.S. I know this won’t be for everyone and that this change in direction will probably lose me some followers, but that’s cool. If you’d prefer to unfollow, thank you for helping to get Mumbelievable to this point. You rock, mama.

I’ve found myself ending up at my toddler’s new favourite soft play at some point during the past nine days out of ten.

Partly because he discovered last week when we went for the first time in ages that he thinks it is absolutely the most awesome place in the universe and never wants to leave.

Up until now he has struggled with the overwhelming noises and sheer numbers of children in those (bloody awful, quite frankly…) types of places. He used to cry when we were there with friends and the other toddlers would be off playing while he just wanted to leave. He’d hang onto me, seemingly terrified. And I’d wonder what it must be like to have a child who loved to play there.

Suddenly, he’s loving soft play. And the look on his perfect little face when we’re there is something I can’t get enough of.

I won’t lie. Getting to this point with him has felt like one huge slog at times. Not because I haven’t loved every moment of being his mum – which I have – but because we’re only now finding out more about his needs that explain why it’s felt so tough.

I’m so grateful for the tough parts of motherhood. They have given me this gorgeous contrast which means when he’s playing happily, I have this completely overwhelming emotional reaction; I quite literally spill over with feelings of joy.

The first few years of parenting are literally curveball, after curveball, after curveball.

Some are brilliant and joyful. Others make you proud. Some make you cry, and others fill you with fear or despair.

You deal with them in the very best way you can.

Mostly while berating yourself for not coping better, managing more and achieving more.

What is that about?

This past week I’ve noticed that when I’ve found myself at soft play – yet again – watching my boy as he jumps around like a maniac or I’m wedging myself down a slide designed for babies, there’s a voice criticising me for not being more creative with the activities we’re doing/not spending enough time outside that day/not getting jobs at home done/not getting enough work done…etc, etc.

But instead of allowing that voice to dominate, I’m trying to be a bit kinder to myself. I’m trying to bottle those moments with him and just enjoy them rather than beating myself up for not having replied to emails, got that project finished, cleaned the bathrooms or thought about dinner.

People say this to mums all the time. Be kinder to yourself. It’s a simple concept, but one which we all seem to find so hard to grasp.

The more I think about it, the more I seem to be attracted to situations where people I know are doing this very thing: trying simply to be a little bit kinder to themselves. So I’m going to take the lead from them.

I’ve not been very kind to myself for years. And slowly I’m recognising the harm that’s caused and the potential it has to ruin beautiful, precious times. And I can’t allow that to happen.

I don’t want that for you either.

So please, please, please Mama. Be kind to yourself. Try like hell to see yourself through the eyes of your children and everyone who knows you.

Because they see your compassion. They see your love, your sacrifices and your triumphs.

They see how incredible you are.

And that’s something every single one of us needs to learn.

Sometimes it’s ok to lower your expectations.

This is my mantra right now.

I started thinking about this recently when I pretty much reached what felt dangerously like breaking point. I’ve literally been forced to re-evaluate.

Life in the Tavender household has been tough in the past six months. Tougher than things have ever been. A husband on a post-kidney transplant rollercoaster fighting to get back to health, a toddler who’s hatred of sleep seems destined to endure into his twenties and a business and household that still need to be run.

Normal things (like exercise, ironing (yawn), catching up with friends, etc) have simply had to be put to one side at times. Many times. We’ve had absolutely no choice.

Please don’t get me wrong. I’m not telling you this for sympathy. We’re bloody lucky. We’ve got incredible support and we’ve got our heads down, determined as ever, to get through to the other side.

(My husband, by the way, is as close to a real-life superhero as you’ll ever come across…so no worries about how he’ll be when all of this drama subsides!)

I’m telling you this because it’s an example of how sometimes life can just get a bit much and force you to look at why things have become overwhelming.

Yes, there’s the stuff we can’t control, which steals our time and energy. Health, family and unforeseen curveballs. Plenty of us need and want to work and our beautiful children demand so much of our emotional and physical energy. Then there’s the pets and the house, and all the other commitments our lives are filled with.

But then, there are the expectations we place upon ourselves on top of the uncontrollables.

Like how many workouts we can get in this week. Like how many days we can eat clean. Like how show-home-perfect we can get our homes. Like how many dinner parties we can throw.

Maybe if we just eased up on ourselves a bit and *deep breath* took the pressure off a little, life might just begin to be a bit easier.

Having written those words, it seems so bleeding obvious, right?

And we’ve all probably advised someone we know who’s in meltdown mode that they could help themselves just by giving themselves a break (or even agreed with someone when they’ve said the same to us).

The pressure we put on ourselves to be, do, and have the things we expect for ourselves and our lives are perpetuating the guilt. The guilt has crippled me and many of the bloody awesome mamas I know and love.

And we don’t deserve it.

Because we can rarely live up to our own expectations….since they’re wildly unrealistic in the first place.

We’re screwed from the word go.

I’m not in any way trying to advocate shunning our ambitions or desires. We’re lucky to live in a land of opportunity where we can create incredible futures for ourselves and our families. We should want the very best this life has to offer. And we should want to be as fit and healthy as possible so we can experience it all with the most energy.

All I’m saying is that every so often, we should flip the mummy guilt the finger and know this:

We’re all trying to do the best we can, and if you take a step back and look at it all, as long as we have our health and our family, (and the occasional glass/es of wine, obvs) life is beautiful.