LIKE, MAN… I’M TIRED (OF WAITING)
Southbank wisdom from one very relatable wall.
There I was, walking with my eldest child across Waterloo Bridge, when I spotted it. Bold, unapologetic, and practically screaming in tired parent energy:
“LIKE, MAN, I’M TIRED (OF WAITING)”
Never in my life has a wall understood me more.
Honestly, I wanted to salute it. I was actually seven months pregnant with my daughter at the time, so can you imagine how exhausted I was? I felt like I could at least lean dramatically against the wall and whisper, “Same.”
Get some photographs for my album books.
Because let’s be real, if motherhood were a musical, the opening number would be “Waiting” and the encore would be “Still Waiting (feat. Cold Tea and Missing Socks).”
Waiting for someone to put their shoes on (he’s been holding one trainer and a wooden spoon for 17 minutes, refusing to wear any other socks than the fluffy yellow ones that are far to big for him, and currently circling around in the washing machine!)
Waiting for the toddler to finish his heartfelt chat with a pigeon,
Waiting for the kettle to boil while silently screaming into the void because someone moved your best mug.
And don’t even get me started on waiting for bedtime. That sacred window between “goodnight sweetie” and “Mum? I just remembered I need an ancient Egyptian costume by tomorrow.”
But somehow, that sign on the Southbank didn’t make me feel worse, far from it! Instead it made me feel seen. There’s something wildly comforting about big city energy echoing your tiny daily meltdowns.
It’s like London itself looked over its shoulder and said, “I get it, babe. You’re doing your best. And also, yes, you do deserve a pastry the size of your head and a large cup of tea.”
So this is your permission slip today, dear reader:
If you’re tired, take the nap (or drink the coffee).
If you’re tired of waiting, scream into a pillow then get weirdly productive.
And if you just want to stand in front of a wall that understands your soul? Then Southbank’s got your back.
I took this photograph over seven years ago now. Little did I know that I would keep it in my favourite photo’s album. Often scrolling through my images, and having a little moment where I stop, feel and then smile on this image.
It made me feel seen, when I was heavily pregnant and I had spent the entire day doing activities with my eldest son and walking around the city. I don’t mean seen as in the “caught eating leftover pizza over the sink” kind of way, but in the deep, soul-hugging way. The kind of seen that says: I know you. I see your tired eyes and your stretched-thin patience. I see the way you show up, every day, even when your tank is empty and your coffee’s gone freezing cold once again.
And during that very moment of recognition, from a wall, no less ( just like Shirley Valentine) I felt something stir in me. Gratitude. Solidarity. A quiet kind of joy. A thought that I am not the only tired one out here in the world. Furthermore, there’s others who are probably feeling far more tired than I was.
So I wanted to pass it on. To make this piece of writing feel like that wall felt to me on a dark winter Sunday evening: a gentle nod, a wink, a knowing smile across a busy street.
To the mums dragging scooters, the dads negotiating with toddlers, the grandparents who said they’d only babysit for an hour but somehow it’s now dark outside, I see you. You’re not invisible. You’re incredible.
Let this be a little reminder that we’re all in it, we’re all waiting, hoping, laughing through the madness. And if a tired concrete wall in London can offer a moment of shared truth, then maybe we can too.
Because sometimes all it takes is four words, scrawled in big bold letters, to say what we’re all quietly carrying:
“Like, man… I’m tired.”
But we’re still here. Still loving. Still trying.
And that should be more than enough.
Love from the tired but trying,
Hannah x
