I tried to resume a ‘normal’ lifestyle again and arranged a whole range of ways to spend my recuperation. Part of me still longed to be just in my dressing gown, staying in and being ‘safe’. Yet the continual battle and pressure to be a working mother was forever on the horizon with a sense of urgency and thus I put unnecessary pressure upon myself to keep busy, to cope, to maintain a clean and tidy home, to look immaculate with an equally squeaky-clean baby. All this linked with the guilt I still felt at times and the worry of being ‘seen’ out and about whilst on sick leave. Yet all these outings I saw as my recovery and had to hope society would understand. Little did people know the continuing personal monitoring I undertook each trip. It seemed there were three of me at times. The big person in the middle who moved and spoke to the outside world but who was constantly being praised or criticised by mini-Elaines on each shoulder. One would be telling me how well I had just coped, like driving the car, only to be interrupted by the other doubting I could then cope in the theatre, for example. Yet I continued to push myself along.
