It's not them, it's me.

This week, we attended the children's Christmas function, the eldest rocked his moves on the dance floor, the youngest was very attentive and focused. They are both doing so well, have improved so greatly and the confidence is evident that we are doing something right.

Great apprehension

A couple hours before our arrival at the school, we are informed that their mother (who has been M.I.A to date) will be in attendance, personally I'm impressed she's making the effort. Although I'm happy for the children that their mother is showing support, I try my best to mask my anxiety at the thought of our first encounter. There is a tangible agitation between us as a couple, we both don't say it, and he even denies it, but we're both walking on eggshells, poised and in our seats. 

The eruption within

Naturally, any woman who has walked my path would want to make sure that the kids are protected from any drama, that as a woman, one looks and feels confident and at one's best. As far as flawless is concerned, I've nailed it, however, within me is an unnerved shambles, hoping for the best. 

The kids come off the stage, they've done so well. I'm so proud and they run into their fathers arms. Straight past me. Dagger in the front. I shrug it off. 

Typically I would be the recipient of such hugs, but I suppose this is their night, it's their father and they know that mom is around. Suddenly my insecurity starts to charge from the top of my solar plexus and wants to spew out through my throat and out of my mouth, a familiar and nagging sequence that has been the cause of my disdain all year. The resentment is real and so is the rejection.

Nothing compares to the pain 

The evening comes to an end, mom doesn't bother to greet me and I'm not surprised. I don't really care either.  Her hair is an unkept bed of two tone outgrowth and her tiny figure swims in the jeans that carry her legs. I pity the her, but she made the effort and it's applaudable. 

The boys throw themselves into her arms, and then we all say goodbye. An unfamiliar pang gnashes at my heart. Those are my boys, I seethe, and then quickly remind myself of my place in this family. I am the 5th wheel, fiercely protective over family that is both my own and by definition not. I'm torn. What is this I'm feeling? 

As we walk to the car, I trail behind. The high heels I'm wearing command my steady pace. They all leave me in their hurried path as I try and keep up without really wanting to either. I feel like less of a priority and then prompt some rationale into my head with a reminder that it's very late and the traffic crazy. He's not leaving me behind on purpose, hundreds of parents and children flow toward their cars and it's way past bed time.  

It's not about me and it's eating me alive. I feel rejected, excluded and unwanted. I call out to their dad to wait, a snigger can be heard behind me, it's her, great! I wanted to be this bold and united family and I'm embarrassed and deflated, caught out like the fraud I feel I am. Perhaps my ego is at play because non of this really matters, yet I'm absolutely devastated. 

A fall from grace

We get home and prepare the children for bed. It's an hour past their regular bed time and so much still has to be done. I prepare their lunches as dad starts packing their bags. We've also just been informed (not consulted with) that they will be collected from their mother a day earlier from school and we are to pack up their clothing for the weekend plus one day - at 9pm in the evening. I feel left out from that decision too, it's not even important but for some reason I'm jaded.  

I'm livid, but at the same time, I'm forced to know my place. I fail to keep my irritation at bay, my face is an open book and my eyes give away a story of their own, wild with annoyance. She's not here, doesn't contribute and yet I'm feeling like I must just fit in.

As we go to bed, an immature blurt of frustration comes out of my mouth, "I hate my life!", and he goes cold with shock. Personally I can't even tell you where this came from, just that it pretty much summed up the last year we have been together. I love him, I love our bond, I love our connection but I don't know if I'm strong enough to do this. Surely it's meant to get better with time? 

An avalanche of emotions start to surface, I feel like a failure, a fraud and a fake. I battle every single day at the thought of sharing my life with this extended family. There is judgement from my side, a reminder of his mistakes and my own. 

I'm stuck at 17. I'm stuck at the hospital where I'm terminating my pregnancy all those years ago. Is this my punishment? Should I have made a different decision? Why didn't I just do the opposite? I'm living with so much regret, such a void and so many unanswered questions. 

This is my life, with no family of my own, no children, no husband, just an observer and participant when I'm required to be and then I need to back off and allow the family to sort out their issues when needs be. The family that reminds me that I'm the outsider. It doesn't help that at my age, people judge me, I've had people tell me I'm a fool for taking on this mess, but I'm still here. Two days ago a girl I used to au pair told me she's seen on social media that I'm "still avoiding the marriage thing". Well I can assure you I'm feeling so much less than a winner right now. 

I'm hurting, badly, wounded by the fact that I chose this. I chose this life because of a love for a man that I've never shared with anyone. I chose this life and yet I feel as if I'm failing at it. I chose this life and yet I'm resentful. Would it be better to just walk away? 

My problem is that, in my mind, this is failure. 
My problem is that, in my mind, this isn't the picket fence dream I deserve.
My problem is that, in my mind, I'm not their mother. I'm the stand in. Good enough for the most part, useless against the original.  
My problem is that, I want to be someones family. 
My problem is that, I want my own children, my own milestones.
My problem is that, I resent that this isn't the life I chose for myself, or rather, that I hadn't envisioned for myself. 
My problem is that, I am so resentful. 
My problem is that, I'm so angry. 
My problem is that, I wish I could undo the past. 
My problem is that, I will always wrestle with regret and judgement. 
My problem is that, I'm broody for the first time in my life. 
My problem is that, I'm an emotional wreck. 

My problem is that, I'm in a box, without a label. I give love, share joy and impart guidance, yet I'm not their mother. I'm expected to be detached, yet expected to love. I'm the fetcher and carrier during school rounds, the provider of clothing and stationery supplies. Their cheerleader and the nothing that compares to their mother whose done nothing but neglect them since they were conceived. 

I'm the cleaner of wounds, the voice of reason and the co-parent during their stay with us which is during the week, every day and on weekends. I'm at a crossroads of self acceptance and self persecution. I'm in a quandary over maternal instinct and duty. I'm struggling with blood bonds versus a couple months of cohabitation in this new role. 

I know I'm not their mother, but I feel like I am. I'm the protector, the cook and cleaner. I'm the one they turn to for good night kisses and giggles over Nae-Nae dance moves. 

My problem is that, I've taken on something greater than myself.
My problem is that, I want to and don't want to at the same time. 
My problem is that, all I can see are the con's and very little pro's to this situation. 
My problem is that, I used to be independent and free and now I'm bound and held to ransom by a broken family where I feel like the outsider. 
My problem is that, even if I have my own children, they will always be his first born. 

If you know what my solution is, I'd love to hear it. 
Until then, I better dry my eyes that have cried about a thousand tears since last night and do my best to pull myself out of this depression and into work mode before that too is jeopardized. 

My depression, my anxiety and my struggle this year, the only year we've been together, all started when I lost my identity and took this all on. I'm no hero, I'm just a woman in love with a man, who is really really battling to accept her life choices. 

Maybe I just need to grow up, maybe time will heal. Who knows, I don't. 

The woman in the mirror

Sitting across from the therapist, I realised that I didn't have much to say to her, to ask for assistance with or to get answers about. My opening words were literally, "I have no idea why I actually came here today." 

Without sounding like I know it all, I realised that I had to find myself again and reconnect with my identity - and of course work on my resentment. But, for the life of me, what was a professional therapist going to tell me that I didn't already know? 

The Disconnect

As I sat blowing my nose while rehashing a year of emotional distress, it became apparent through my session that I've disconnected from this picture. Disconnected from people, from feeling. Disconnected and in turn, bitter. And guess who sits at the fore of my distress? Their mother. 

My issues, concerns and frustrations, albeit a huge responsibility I've taken on, have lead me to childhood and previous relationship matters that I simply haven't addressed until now. I never wanted to be the homewrecker, I never wanted to be the thorn in the side of a family union. That is how I grew up, how I was influenced and traumatised. 

To reconnect, one needs to empathize, release fear and work through the mirror image of the problem being presented. My problem is a person I cannot see nor speak to, yet I have eaten from the sweet fruit of drama and poisoned myself with her bitterness. 


Mirror Mirror 

The therapist turns to me and asks, "What is it that this woman represents to you?" 

Immediately all the irresponsible things she had done, said, felt and confessed to came to mind. "She's the complete opposite of me", I retorted, "her lack of responsibility and accountability." 

But, this in fact, is not what she represents. This woman, the mother of these two children I'm raising is my karmic lesson of compassion and unconditional love that I've chosen to turn my back on. 

I am no better than her, she is no better than I. We are two people that have chosen two different live paths and her children are a constant reminder of a polar opposite I've never experienced until her. She is, my mirror. 

A lesson in empathy

The therapist turns to me again, after a long gap of silence between my tears. "Imagine, for a moment, how it must feel for her. Imagine being alone, with someone else raising your children, with someone whom you shared 10 years of your life with. Imagine for a moment, how she feels, being a weekend mother, realising her shortfalls, her dreams and aspirations not materalized and seeing you with her family, living a life she perceives as perfect."

My face went numb, and that hollow feeling one gets in the pit of their stomach when a loss is felt. The slow, creeping vines of anger and resentment, transformed into sadness and withered inside me. How lonely she must feel. How much lose she too has suffered.  

While I realise that I wasn't the cause of her relationship breakdown, I've stepped into a relationship with a man that I have so much history with, that she too has so much history with. A man we shared at different times of our lives, children we share now, children that weren't part of my plan. Children that I've given my all to, sacrificed for, loved and been hurt by. Children that constantly remind me of a time in my life when their father and I could have been more, could have prevented their existence by staying together as teenagers. Their relationship wasn't based on what ours is, but that doesn't make her loss and grief any easier to swallow - for both of us. 

I felt like the other woman. I felt like, in a surreal way, I had stepped into and invaded a family that had nothing to do with me. A family that I hadn't chosen, and a family that I felt alienated from - because I never made them - they did. And while this realisation made me sick to pits of my being, I feel the happiest with him, the most content together that I've ever been in my life. As if, he was always mine, borrowed from me by the world and returned to me as destiny and fate would have it. 

Perhaps, this is how it's meant to be. Perhaps, I'm the love lesson that needs to be reflected into her life with action and in time. 

Extending love and letting go

So before everyone gets on the bandwagon of cliche's, "Everything happens for a reason", is top of my mind. I know that I cannot go back. I know that everything has happened by choice, by purpose and that these two little souls need the good from both of us, all of us. She is their mother, I am their guide and they have a very capable, very hands-on father. We should be a power team, not a toxic divide. 

I've never spoken ill of their mother, while there are always constant reminders of how she's slated me in my absence to them, in front of them. Funny how it always gets back to my ears through the children. 

My choice, right now, is to change my perspective. My choice is to let go of my unrealistic expectations that a bond that I share with their father is enough to get us through and make everything okay. Everything was not okay before I arrived. Everything is getting better, but this isn't a quick fix. This is life, these are lives, my life, his life, hers and theirs. 

The therapist closes her book at the end of our session. "You can live with bitterness and become twisted with resentment, or you can choose to love her in her imperfection."

I may not be ready for that, I'm still trying to come to terms with feeling like she stole my life. The life that in retrospect, I was meant to have. Not raise her children. 

Knowing she willingly carried children that would be subjected to alcohol and drug abuse makes me resent myself even more for not being brave enough to say yes instead of no to a child that would have changed our entire lives. 

Perhaps I'm just living out my own guilt, perhaps this is the bigger picture. Perhaps, I've got so much more to learn and gain with so much less to sacrifice than I realise. 

Let the healing begin.