My name is Topless Coffee. Of course I was not born with this rather unique name but only acquired it relatively recently in my life and it kind of stuck. More so, I quite like it. If you happen to enjoy this blog and get further than the first paragraph on the home page you will find out how it came about.
I’m now in my forties. And single. Over the past fifteen years, I collected three kids, two ex-husbands, a cat and an au pair along the way, as well as a number of awesome friends and a certain amount of judgement in regards to the choices I make in life. They still don’t always make sense and quite regularly occur the comment ‘only you could …..’ Those who’s opinion I care about tend to say it in a reasonably loving way.
I’m European and at some point in my twenties decided I needed a change of scenery and spend a whole summer in London. I had been here before numerous times and always loved this place. After this particular stint however, I came to the decision to make it my permanent home. My parents weren’t too impressed.
So I packed everything I deemed important in my car, booked a ferry with my dad’s credit card (sorry Dad!!) and one day in July 2014, I was here. I found a job, I found a guy and a year later I was six months pregnant getting married to said guy. Kind of all seemed good. My awesome dude No1 arrived later that year, followed by another just as awesome little guy only 18 months later. It wasn’t a great marriage though. For a long time I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, I just knew something was off. It took me a while to realise that he didn’t treat me the way a man should treat a woman. But all to often that gets excused by the empty phrase of ‘I only do this because I love you’. As time went on, I got so unsettled, I didn’t sleep anymore and finally came to the conclusion that this wasn’t a healthy environment for children to grow up in and under great difficulty moved out.
The time that followed was stressful and frustrating. My parents tried being supportive but especially from my mum there was constant criticism why I didn’t try harder to make it work. And a constant expression of worry about my life being over now.
So when I met someone else who was happy to take me on with two kids, things seemed okay again. Fast forward a few years and I was married again, with a third little dude. And in another unhappy marriage, although for different reasons this time.
It feels pretty shit when you have to admit that something that’s supposed to work just isn’t. My marriage was dying a slow death, visible for everyone. Those close to me understood it, a lot of others did not. After long talks with two of my friends, and a lot of soul searching, I came to the conclusion that I could not face the rest of my life being utterly miserable and for all its downsides, my three dudes would be better off with a single but happy mum rather than one desperately trying to keep up appearances and high on prozac. I asked for some time to think, then drew the line. Again, a painful process followed. Not so bad this time though.
A year and a half down the line, things still aren’t going perfect, but they are so much better. There is a lot more chaos in my house, but also more laughter, more happiness and more fun. Less dark clouds and tension in the air. More things to look forward to. I’m still working on the being me/being a mum/working/life in general balance but it’s not going too badly.
And occasionally, I go on a date. Or feel the need to tell the world about some of the things going through my head. Then I add to this blog. Enjoy it.