The Cactus

by Sarah Haywood

“But my truth is just a little bit more valid than yours.”

It’s not exactly a revelation. I suppose I’ve known for a long time, but I didn’t want to admit that I, just like everyone else, might be subject to such irrational feelings, feelings that shave away your outer layer of protection and render you exposed and vulnerable. Can I really allow that to happen?

Admittedly, it’s an odd time to be making a life-changing decision, but perhaps there’s something to be said for choices based on instinct rather than on meticulous design. I have a sense that I won’t regret it.

“Is everyone deliberately trying to undermine me?” I shout. “Has anybody got any positive words of encouragement here?”

I hesitate, then nod. Failure, I can’t help thinking to myself. And then I think, but who gives a shit?

can already tell that she and I are alike. It’s odd—since she was born, matters of certainty and uncertainty have swapped places. I was convinced I’d know exactly how to handle the practical side of caring for a baby: how to change her nappy, how to hold her when she’s feeding, how to bathe her, but I admit I feel inexperienced and clumsy. Conversely, I was very far from convinced that I could love my daughter straightaway. I’m amazed, now, that I ever doubted it.