#MeTwo

I have a new admiration for those men you hear about with secret second families. Currently I’m attempting to live a double life, and it’s absolutely exhausting, making me feel a bit mad, and extremely guilt and panic-inducing as I’m always worried I should be concentrating on the other one. By day, I’m a journalist (coming up with hot takes on news stories, pitching to papers, interviewing, writing) by night a bit later that day, a trainee therapist (studying, practising skills, attempting to secure a clinical placement via application forms that make War and Peace look brief and surface level.) I’m like Clark Kent/Superman, but a female, barely holding it together version. Petula Clark/Shitwoman?

Photo by Braydon Anderson on Unsplash

Perhaps this situation feels extreme because my two identities are so opposite – although Clark Kent was a journo and also saving the world and he managed fine. This was hammered home last week, when I spent the morning reading a really heavy, disturbing paper about psychosis in children, then had to stop and immediately switch into the mindset for a Zoom brainstorm about the magazine interview I was about to do with one of the Real Housewives Of New York. Flip flopping like this, between something very serious and something usually not is making me feel maybe a bit split personality, although I can’t be sure because we haven’t done that yet.

And of course while I’m wringing my hands and head about being Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde, I’m also trying to be a good (enough) wife, mum, friend, daughter etc, with all the mental and physical loads implied by those roles. Is it too much? Or is this just life?

And then I heard some podcasters talking about the new Eddie Murphy Netflix documentary. They said that the saddest fact they learned from it was that once he got famous, and people started doing impressions of him on Saturday Night Live etc, he changed his laugh. Remember - if you’re ancient enough - that barking seal-esque Eddie Murphy laugh? It was almost his trademark. But he became so self-conscious he forced himself to laugh differently. Imagine. Censoring yourself that much, not allowing yourself the natural, automatic outburst of humour and happiness, catching yourself every time, making yourself stop and do something pretend instead. Reigning in your joy and delight. Faking it. Awful.

Made me realise that even if I am simultaneously being Teen Wolf and whoever Michael J Fox was when he wasn’t Teen Wolf (have run out of double identity examples) at least they’re both authentic. They’re each true barking, seal-esque parts of me. Rather than flailing around, panicking about everything all the time, maybe I’ll try and be pleased about that. I’m a double threat, baby!

And although the two sides feel far apart at the moment, maybe they’ll eventually meet in the middle. Merge. Look out for an interview where a Real Housewife explains how she feels about child psychosis, any day now.