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.
Showing posts with label life lessons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life lessons. Show all posts
Wednesday, 2 December 2015
Monday, 12 October 2015
Bombyx mori
I've never really been afraid of bugs.
Sure, I'm not a fan of locust's or things that may have a stony exoskeleton, but besides that, I can handle most insects.
It's that time of the year
Three weeks ago, our eldest brought home a box of Silkworms. No longer than my smallest fingernail, each little worm now depended on him for survival. "This will be a good life lesson", we thought, until one night he went to bed knowing they were in need of food and couldn't have cared less.
Perhaps too young (at the age of 9) to understand the responsibility he had undertaken, perhaps too naive to consider the consequences should they not survive due to his neglect.
Not a care in the world
A few days later, the kids are off to their mom for a full 10 day mid term break. The box of Silkworms sits on our dining table, dried leaves need to be changed and scatterings of digested Mulberry leaves need to be cleaned out from the box.
What happened next was truly shocking, although I shouldn't have been appalled - I was. Eldest skips out the door with bags in hand, gives me a half-hearted hug goodbye and leaves the worms behind. When I stopped to suggest he takes the worms with to mom for the next 10 days, he sheepishly hands over responsibility to me with a detached grin. Three worms had died in his care, my heart was broken, so needless to say they were mine to care for.
To live or die
Thankfully there is a Mulberry tree in our road, literally a couple steps from our house. There were jokes about putting the helpless grubs in the tree and let nature take its course. There was talk about giving them away and even throwing them in the dustbin. For some reason, I just couldn't do it.
Perhaps the hassle and the responsibility was my own fault, I could have chosen to give up on these little stinkers and continue with my 10 day holiday from the kids. Yes, even though I'm still working as usual, no children for 10 days feels like a vacation on its own and I was excited.
So I decided to keep feeding them
There were days of box changing and cleaning that I resented. The heat had been unbearable and the worms needed leaves morning and night as they grew and doubled in size. But there were days where (and I still do) just sit and watch them be. Their main purpose in life, unfaltering commitment to grow and spin cocoons. They eat, they poop, they eat, they poop and on the odd occasion they will sleep.
As they grew, they would shed their skins to accommodate their growing forms. By this stage, one of the worms had given up and spun his cocoon prematurely, as if to just shut out the world and retreat to a cozy, yellow safe haven.
I could relate. Yes it was premature, but he simply did what came naturally, even though it wasn't 'the right time'.
My box of lessons
One day last week, while cleaning their box out, a small golden shell caught my eye. It seemed that a Silkworm had transformed itself into a pupae without spinning a silky cocoon and died. We had just experienced day 4 of a massive, national heatwave. Perhaps my own neglect had caused this little critter to pass on prematurely?
I gently picked up the little casing, and on inspection, a transparent half-moth, half-worm had developed inside. How on earth did this creature manage to go into this stage of it's life without spinning a cocoon first?
Adapt to survive
I gently prodded the alien creature that lay in my hand and to my surprise it began to wiggle. The wiggle of life, the wiggle of survival. The wings were developing, I could see the changes happening and the adaptation within the casing before my eyes. It had failed to cocoon, but it hadn't failed to survive!
In that moment of awe, I became so aware of my own journey over the last few months with the kids in my life. My instant motherhood journey, trials and resentments. My ability to see that some instances are permanent, some are temporary and some are choices that have all prepared me for this change.
Sure, I wasn't ready to do this. Perhaps this little pupae was a metaphor for the journey I've been on.
Sometimes, we go against the norm. Some circumstances will make us feel judged, some may make us feel 'abnormal' and others will prod and poke us to remind us that we're still alive.
As we transform and grow before everyone's eyes, we may struggle with change and may even forget that all we're meant to do, is simply do what comes naturally. The change doesn't happen when the bell rings, the change happens as its meant to, be it break down, spin or retreat.
We may struggle with transformation and we may even need to adapt to survive. Some of us will be pushed to spin a cocoon and retreat within as we change, emerging as that butterfly (or in this case moth) that we inevitably will become. Some of us may transform, unaware that the change was happening anyway and yet everything is exactly as it should be.
You don't always have to be comfortable and protected to develop. Sometimes the shift happens when you're in the midst of a heatwave.
Sure, I'm not a fan of locust's or things that may have a stony exoskeleton, but besides that, I can handle most insects.
It's that time of the year
Three weeks ago, our eldest brought home a box of Silkworms. No longer than my smallest fingernail, each little worm now depended on him for survival. "This will be a good life lesson", we thought, until one night he went to bed knowing they were in need of food and couldn't have cared less.
Perhaps too young (at the age of 9) to understand the responsibility he had undertaken, perhaps too naive to consider the consequences should they not survive due to his neglect.
Not a care in the world
A few days later, the kids are off to their mom for a full 10 day mid term break. The box of Silkworms sits on our dining table, dried leaves need to be changed and scatterings of digested Mulberry leaves need to be cleaned out from the box.
What happened next was truly shocking, although I shouldn't have been appalled - I was. Eldest skips out the door with bags in hand, gives me a half-hearted hug goodbye and leaves the worms behind. When I stopped to suggest he takes the worms with to mom for the next 10 days, he sheepishly hands over responsibility to me with a detached grin. Three worms had died in his care, my heart was broken, so needless to say they were mine to care for.
To live or die
Thankfully there is a Mulberry tree in our road, literally a couple steps from our house. There were jokes about putting the helpless grubs in the tree and let nature take its course. There was talk about giving them away and even throwing them in the dustbin. For some reason, I just couldn't do it.
Perhaps the hassle and the responsibility was my own fault, I could have chosen to give up on these little stinkers and continue with my 10 day holiday from the kids. Yes, even though I'm still working as usual, no children for 10 days feels like a vacation on its own and I was excited.
So I decided to keep feeding them
There were days of box changing and cleaning that I resented. The heat had been unbearable and the worms needed leaves morning and night as they grew and doubled in size. But there were days where (and I still do) just sit and watch them be. Their main purpose in life, unfaltering commitment to grow and spin cocoons. They eat, they poop, they eat, they poop and on the odd occasion they will sleep.
As they grew, they would shed their skins to accommodate their growing forms. By this stage, one of the worms had given up and spun his cocoon prematurely, as if to just shut out the world and retreat to a cozy, yellow safe haven.
I could relate. Yes it was premature, but he simply did what came naturally, even though it wasn't 'the right time'.
My box of lessons
One day last week, while cleaning their box out, a small golden shell caught my eye. It seemed that a Silkworm had transformed itself into a pupae without spinning a silky cocoon and died. We had just experienced day 4 of a massive, national heatwave. Perhaps my own neglect had caused this little critter to pass on prematurely?
I gently picked up the little casing, and on inspection, a transparent half-moth, half-worm had developed inside. How on earth did this creature manage to go into this stage of it's life without spinning a cocoon first?
Adapt to survive
I gently prodded the alien creature that lay in my hand and to my surprise it began to wiggle. The wiggle of life, the wiggle of survival. The wings were developing, I could see the changes happening and the adaptation within the casing before my eyes. It had failed to cocoon, but it hadn't failed to survive!
In that moment of awe, I became so aware of my own journey over the last few months with the kids in my life. My instant motherhood journey, trials and resentments. My ability to see that some instances are permanent, some are temporary and some are choices that have all prepared me for this change.
Sure, I wasn't ready to do this. Perhaps this little pupae was a metaphor for the journey I've been on.
Sometimes, we go against the norm. Some circumstances will make us feel judged, some may make us feel 'abnormal' and others will prod and poke us to remind us that we're still alive.
As we transform and grow before everyone's eyes, we may struggle with change and may even forget that all we're meant to do, is simply do what comes naturally. The change doesn't happen when the bell rings, the change happens as its meant to, be it break down, spin or retreat.
We may struggle with transformation and we may even need to adapt to survive. Some of us will be pushed to spin a cocoon and retreat within as we change, emerging as that butterfly (or in this case moth) that we inevitably will become. Some of us may transform, unaware that the change was happening anyway and yet everything is exactly as it should be.
You don't always have to be comfortable and protected to develop. Sometimes the shift happens when you're in the midst of a heatwave.
 |
| My box of Bombyx mori |
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| If its uncomfortable, it's probably a growth period! |
Sunday, 20 September 2015
Are expectations premeditated resentments?
I remember sitting in therapy a couple of years ago explaining that an ex had told me that "expectations were premeditated resentments".
For a while, the therapist and I debated whether or not his outlook was a negative one, or perhaps if expectations were in fact, necessary.
This past week, I realised that most of my resentments have come from expecting the other party, the children, my partner, even my boss, to do certain things, provide in certain ways and then, in turn, fulfill my needs and my expectations - all of which revolve around me.
I don't mean that I expect them to drop everything, yet I do, I have an unrealistic expectation that everyone is happy, everyone is on my side and everyone wants to pull their weight and add joy to my life. A cotton candy bubble of denial, that's me, the eternal optimist. Facts are, people are people.
Sometimes for example, the ex fails to pay her part toward her children (that I'm paying for and currently raising) or she sets up the children for failure when she doesn't arrive with her family in tow as promised to their soccer matches - I simply get resentful. I expect a mother to be more than that. I expect her to be - me - to do what I would do, to move heaven and earth to be there, to ensure that my word is my bond.
But when you learn to expect that the unexpected is going to occur, when you learn that your expectations may be unrealistic, aggressively optimistic or even completely off course, you're growing. Perhaps, like myself, you keep thinking that maybe this time will be different, expectations are often our greatest cause of pain and disappointment when we don't accept people for who they are and who they've proven to be.
We expect from others, what we would do ourselves. Accepting that people will let you down, or at least fall short of your desires for the outcome in mind, is your greatest freedom. It's not that one shouldn't expect better from people, but it is necessary to free yourself from judgement of them when they fail to rise.
So this week, I decided to see the circumstances in which I expect certain outcomes to prevail, exactly as they are. I expect that each time the children get home from school, there may not be a welcoming committee nor a parade of love showered from them to me. I don't take it personally anymore, it is expected. I have come to expect very little, perhaps expect humanness, routine and a little less pizzazz - then I can't be disappointed. They are after all, moody, complex and individual human beings.
The same applies when their mother reacts with childish comments and hurtful accusations, I've learned to expect this, my expectations cannot cause resentment, because I know that she's incapable, or at least unwilling, to rise above the pain and anger she feels toward us and be a present and active parent. In the past, I had high hopes she would soften, change and reason with herself if not with us.
A stone is a stone, and I shall no longer see the stone as a feather. So now, I let go and at the same time embrace expectations. They can be premeditated resentments or they can set you free.
It's lighter and my life feels like my own again.
For a while, the therapist and I debated whether or not his outlook was a negative one, or perhaps if expectations were in fact, necessary.
This past week, I realised that most of my resentments have come from expecting the other party, the children, my partner, even my boss, to do certain things, provide in certain ways and then, in turn, fulfill my needs and my expectations - all of which revolve around me.
I don't mean that I expect them to drop everything, yet I do, I have an unrealistic expectation that everyone is happy, everyone is on my side and everyone wants to pull their weight and add joy to my life. A cotton candy bubble of denial, that's me, the eternal optimist. Facts are, people are people.
Sometimes for example, the ex fails to pay her part toward her children (that I'm paying for and currently raising) or she sets up the children for failure when she doesn't arrive with her family in tow as promised to their soccer matches - I simply get resentful. I expect a mother to be more than that. I expect her to be - me - to do what I would do, to move heaven and earth to be there, to ensure that my word is my bond.
But when you learn to expect that the unexpected is going to occur, when you learn that your expectations may be unrealistic, aggressively optimistic or even completely off course, you're growing. Perhaps, like myself, you keep thinking that maybe this time will be different, expectations are often our greatest cause of pain and disappointment when we don't accept people for who they are and who they've proven to be.
We expect from others, what we would do ourselves. Accepting that people will let you down, or at least fall short of your desires for the outcome in mind, is your greatest freedom. It's not that one shouldn't expect better from people, but it is necessary to free yourself from judgement of them when they fail to rise.
So this week, I decided to see the circumstances in which I expect certain outcomes to prevail, exactly as they are. I expect that each time the children get home from school, there may not be a welcoming committee nor a parade of love showered from them to me. I don't take it personally anymore, it is expected. I have come to expect very little, perhaps expect humanness, routine and a little less pizzazz - then I can't be disappointed. They are after all, moody, complex and individual human beings.
The same applies when their mother reacts with childish comments and hurtful accusations, I've learned to expect this, my expectations cannot cause resentment, because I know that she's incapable, or at least unwilling, to rise above the pain and anger she feels toward us and be a present and active parent. In the past, I had high hopes she would soften, change and reason with herself if not with us.
A stone is a stone, and I shall no longer see the stone as a feather. So now, I let go and at the same time embrace expectations. They can be premeditated resentments or they can set you free.
It's lighter and my life feels like my own again.
Thursday, 3 September 2015
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.
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.
Tuesday, 1 September 2015
Seeking professional help
Today, fate had plans for me.
I had decided that after my recent melt down (and a couple mini ones thereafter) it was time to seek professional help. I needed to speak to someone about my resentment and my fears, boy do I have a lot of both.
As destiny would have it, a cancellation came through for the Psychologist I was trying to get an appointment with, apparently quite a popular Dr. with many patients waiting to see her months from now. Today, I was meant to be there, meet her, chat.
My first steps
"I have absolutely no idea why I'm here", I started. To be honest with you (and her) I realised that I had a lack of balance, needed more 'me' time and had thrown myself into a role that had nothing to do with me. But, I didn't know why I was sitting in front of a professional therapist when I knew all the answers already. I knew and still know that only I can fix this by changing my attitude towards this new life.
What I didn't bank on was hearing that all of it, all of it, was my choice. Now, I'm not ignorant to the fact that I chose to take on this step mommy role, but I didn't really think that it would get this far, the drama that is, to the point of breaking my soul. Turns out, it's all part of the permission I've granted. Hashtag let's take some ownership here.
It's still not about me
In short, I have to let go. It's not about me, not in the sense that I want to be the centre of attention, but about putting myself in everyone elses shoes. Surely I've been doing so much of that, that this is the reason why I snapped? I need to change my perspective, positive versus negative. Happy, healthy versus down and depressed. I realised today, I've become addicted to the drama of not knowing how this works and choosing to be stuck in the middle of someone else's fight.
My challenge is to accept the things I cannot change, sound familiar?
So, I identified today that my expectations haven't exactly been realistic and that I "signed a contract without knowing what the terms and conditions were", as my therapist so rightly said today. It doesn't mean we're doomed, it means I have to learn to deal. Always a choice to accept my present circumstances or leave.
I choose to stay.
Monday, 31 August 2015
No one understands it, not even myself.
I've been rallying through this instant family role for a year now, properly since the beginning of this year (2015) all on my own steam, no one gets it, it's not encouraged, nor endorsed by anyone who knows, loves or meets me. People don't get this, not even I do.
I read a short Babble article this morning that just summed up all my emotions and put everything into perspective that's pretty much, what I call life at this moment.
I have no village.
During a very real chat with Daddio recently, I lay all my cards on the table about boundaries. I've found that resentment and fear are buddies, and that where there is resentment, there's most likely an underlying fear that someone or something is going to have to be sacrificed. A least in my mind.
Having identified this conflicting duo of emotions, I've managed to stop, take a meaningful breath and then ask myself, "What are you afraid of in this moment of resentment?"
Nine out of ten times, it is the fear of loss I'll endure, loss of something physical or precious that I've worked for. The other side is the fear of lack of appreciation I'll receive from anyone, lack of gratitude, being taken for granted, being resented back. Something may get damaged that I've worked hard for (when they sit swinging their legs on my new camping chairs on the lawn or perhaps I'm concerned that I'm at the bottom of the priority list as the last bits of my favourite mayonnaise are put up for auction to the highest bidder without my consideration and yes, it's just bloody mayonnaise, why do I act like it's important). I'm constantly wrestling with resentment and releasing it by speaking about my fears and concerns as they arise, which set me free from the burden of carrying them silently, sometimes for days.
Try discipline a child without raising your hands, your voice or asking yourself why you signed up for this. I've tried, been and done everything in my power, perhaps this is my emotional rock bottom, my cry for help.
I need a village, and my tribe is very, very small. I don't know anyone who is in the same position as I am. I'm gapping this and I may just be losing my mind.
Why am I putting myself through this?
So here I am, letting it all out. The toothpaste in our bathroom has been forced down into the basin drain by 6 year old fingers his solo game continues in silence.
Thousands of little germs greet his dirty fingers, the same ones he was meant to wash prior, along with the booger in his nose that needed to be removed. Yes, he's 6, I get it, but it's my basin too.
I stand watching from a distance as he takes his toothbrush and sweeps up the remains of our dirty basin (please don't act like yours is spotless 24/7) bringing the debris to his little mouth. It is in this moment I realise that my en-suite bathroom has been overthrown, my sanctuary and only place to hide has been taken over because two little boys have to be separated otherwise there are distractions and fighting and nothing really gets done. This is bullshit.
When I realise that he is in possession and alternating 2 toothpaste tubes (and neither are the junior brands I brought him last week), I in turn, realise is our tube of adult toothpaste.
He has now managed to mix up the only 2 tubes of toothpaste in our bathroom, one of which was for his exclusive use during a severe mouth infection he had two weeks ago. Now I know where my ulcer and sinus infection have come from *rolls eyes*.
My blood pressure starts to rise, I've been sick and perhaps this is the reason why. Perhaps, if these were my own biological children, my willingness to share bodily fluids with them, including germs and diseases, I wouldn't be so pissed. Why am I putting myself through this, why! I share my resentments, Daddio quickly takes the tubes back to their original bathroom. I'm sans toothpaste I can trust. Now would be a good time to tell me I'm being oversensitive.
Toughen up or leave
I will admit, that leaving this place I call home with two small manipulators with very obvious psychological issues, has become a very real option. It's not because I don't love their father, God knows how much I love their father, it's because I'm wondering if I've got what it takes to do this.
But maybe, this isn't about loving myself more, maybe it's learning to dance in the rain as they say, about setting boundaries in place and being happy - for the most part - without losing my own sense of identity.
So I made myself a priority. (Ha.)
It ends by starting anew
And this week I look forward to so many exciting new adventures, on my own, because that's what all women need, with or without a village, with or without offspring. They need time out, pampering, friends and that moment when you get to a set of traffic lights, get checked out by a cute guy next to you and feel that ziiiiiiiing of, "Yeah, I still got it!".
So I've set out a date for myself, all my needs cannot be fulfilled by everyone in my life, so I'm making my own list and prioritizing myself once again. I'm seeing old friends for lunch and coffee dates that I've failed to prioritize over the last year, I've got a gym date with my bestie (me) I'm starting to drink green tea, with the intention of getting my sexy, un-mommied body back in shape - because that's what I signed up for. For independence, for self preservation, for date nights and movies and memories. Sorry Daddio, it's not personal, well it is, but not like that :)
Not because I'm selfish, but because I'm worth it. Not because you don't make me happy but because you can't give me everything I need, all of the time, and that wouldn't be sensible to expect anyone on this planet to make me (or you) whole. As my dad always says, "Life is a Do It Yourself Job".
No one gives 100% of their effort, 100% of their time to 100% of anything - it's not possible. Balance will set me free, balance is the answer, balance is the difference between expecting to be priority and then commanding it when the time is right.
Balance cannot allow resentment to come into play when balance allows for new adventures, stimulus and experiences. Time out, time away - without romance, without partners, without even being angry about it. Simply, just - for - you! So you can grow, so you can live, so you can create your own memories, experiences and identity.
Balance is in my own hands. Maybe then, people will stop asking me what I'm still doing with a man and his two children and all their baggage. An ex and her shopping list of tendencies to give less f#$%s than anyone I know about her responsibilities.
And perhaps when I'm smiling again because I've sorted myself out - everyone will realise, including myself, that love is enough and boundaries are everything.
I read a short Babble article this morning that just summed up all my emotions and put everything into perspective that's pretty much, what I call life at this moment.
I have no village.
During a very real chat with Daddio recently, I lay all my cards on the table about boundaries. I've found that resentment and fear are buddies, and that where there is resentment, there's most likely an underlying fear that someone or something is going to have to be sacrificed. A least in my mind.
Having identified this conflicting duo of emotions, I've managed to stop, take a meaningful breath and then ask myself, "What are you afraid of in this moment of resentment?"
Nine out of ten times, it is the fear of loss I'll endure, loss of something physical or precious that I've worked for. The other side is the fear of lack of appreciation I'll receive from anyone, lack of gratitude, being taken for granted, being resented back. Something may get damaged that I've worked hard for (when they sit swinging their legs on my new camping chairs on the lawn or perhaps I'm concerned that I'm at the bottom of the priority list as the last bits of my favourite mayonnaise are put up for auction to the highest bidder without my consideration and yes, it's just bloody mayonnaise, why do I act like it's important). I'm constantly wrestling with resentment and releasing it by speaking about my fears and concerns as they arise, which set me free from the burden of carrying them silently, sometimes for days.
Try discipline a child without raising your hands, your voice or asking yourself why you signed up for this. I've tried, been and done everything in my power, perhaps this is my emotional rock bottom, my cry for help.
I need a village, and my tribe is very, very small. I don't know anyone who is in the same position as I am. I'm gapping this and I may just be losing my mind.
Why am I putting myself through this?
So here I am, letting it all out. The toothpaste in our bathroom has been forced down into the basin drain by 6 year old fingers his solo game continues in silence.
Thousands of little germs greet his dirty fingers, the same ones he was meant to wash prior, along with the booger in his nose that needed to be removed. Yes, he's 6, I get it, but it's my basin too.
I stand watching from a distance as he takes his toothbrush and sweeps up the remains of our dirty basin (please don't act like yours is spotless 24/7) bringing the debris to his little mouth. It is in this moment I realise that my en-suite bathroom has been overthrown, my sanctuary and only place to hide has been taken over because two little boys have to be separated otherwise there are distractions and fighting and nothing really gets done. This is bullshit.
When I realise that he is in possession and alternating 2 toothpaste tubes (and neither are the junior brands I brought him last week), I in turn, realise is our tube of adult toothpaste.
He has now managed to mix up the only 2 tubes of toothpaste in our bathroom, one of which was for his exclusive use during a severe mouth infection he had two weeks ago. Now I know where my ulcer and sinus infection have come from *rolls eyes*.
My blood pressure starts to rise, I've been sick and perhaps this is the reason why. Perhaps, if these were my own biological children, my willingness to share bodily fluids with them, including germs and diseases, I wouldn't be so pissed. Why am I putting myself through this, why! I share my resentments, Daddio quickly takes the tubes back to their original bathroom. I'm sans toothpaste I can trust. Now would be a good time to tell me I'm being oversensitive.
Toughen up or leave
I will admit, that leaving this place I call home with two small manipulators with very obvious psychological issues, has become a very real option. It's not because I don't love their father, God knows how much I love their father, it's because I'm wondering if I've got what it takes to do this.
But maybe, this isn't about loving myself more, maybe it's learning to dance in the rain as they say, about setting boundaries in place and being happy - for the most part - without losing my own sense of identity.
So I made myself a priority. (Ha.)
It ends by starting anew
And this week I look forward to so many exciting new adventures, on my own, because that's what all women need, with or without a village, with or without offspring. They need time out, pampering, friends and that moment when you get to a set of traffic lights, get checked out by a cute guy next to you and feel that ziiiiiiiing of, "Yeah, I still got it!".
So I've set out a date for myself, all my needs cannot be fulfilled by everyone in my life, so I'm making my own list and prioritizing myself once again. I'm seeing old friends for lunch and coffee dates that I've failed to prioritize over the last year, I've got a gym date with my bestie (me) I'm starting to drink green tea, with the intention of getting my sexy, un-mommied body back in shape - because that's what I signed up for. For independence, for self preservation, for date nights and movies and memories. Sorry Daddio, it's not personal, well it is, but not like that :)
Not because I'm selfish, but because I'm worth it. Not because you don't make me happy but because you can't give me everything I need, all of the time, and that wouldn't be sensible to expect anyone on this planet to make me (or you) whole. As my dad always says, "Life is a Do It Yourself Job".
No one gives 100% of their effort, 100% of their time to 100% of anything - it's not possible. Balance will set me free, balance is the answer, balance is the difference between expecting to be priority and then commanding it when the time is right.
Balance cannot allow resentment to come into play when balance allows for new adventures, stimulus and experiences. Time out, time away - without romance, without partners, without even being angry about it. Simply, just - for - you! So you can grow, so you can live, so you can create your own memories, experiences and identity.
Balance is in my own hands. Maybe then, people will stop asking me what I'm still doing with a man and his two children and all their baggage. An ex and her shopping list of tendencies to give less f#$%s than anyone I know about her responsibilities.
And perhaps when I'm smiling again because I've sorted myself out - everyone will realise, including myself, that love is enough and boundaries are everything.
Tuesday, 21 July 2015
We just killed the stork
If there's one thing I'm not shy about, it's discussing the human body - the good, bad and ugly. In fact, it is a career option that I've had since a child, but I can't divulge too much about myself so just believe me when I say I can do human anatomy - like a boss.
Today, we've agreed to tell our kids about the birds and the bee's. Yes, these two little treasures are about to hear about the facts of life and for the first time in my life I'm sitting at the dining table giggling like a school girl.
I can't do this - not with a straight face!
"Of all the things I need you to do," dad says, "I need you to have a straight face."
I have to sit, and look these two in the eyes and calmly explain how the male anatomy finds its way into the female anatomy and a baby is made. Factual, no nonsense information. We just killed the stork.
Like ripping off a plaster
It wasn't as bad as I thought it may be, although there were two points that stood out which I'll elaborate on shortly. Dad did a great job, he's so good at this kind of thing, perhaps I'm so lame because they are little men?
I sit upright beside him, 'just relax', I keep reminding myself and I nod sweetly in their direction.
Wrapping things up, excuse the pun, we cover disease, pregnancy, and the fact that the good old stork is but a myth. We cover animals mating habits, restrictions and privacy, masturbation and self love (the worth kind).
Before we know it, it's all over and as we end the conversation we revise what we've discussed. "So," dad says, "we respect our bodies and we only have sex when we are adults and we love one another. Are there any questions?"
Eldest looks sincerely at his father and says, "So dad, we can't have sex with our cousins?" I hold back the impending burst of laughter by biting down on my bottom lip. "NO! Especially not your cousins!!!", dad exclaims, "Only adults, can put their privates together, adults that love each other."
The little one sits across from me, repeating what dad has just said. He lifts each index finger and points one of each at us and brings them slowly together. "Daddy and aunty X, to-ge-th-errrrrrr" he says and places them side by side.
Game, set, match - and I'm finished !!
Today, we've agreed to tell our kids about the birds and the bee's. Yes, these two little treasures are about to hear about the facts of life and for the first time in my life I'm sitting at the dining table giggling like a school girl.
I can't do this - not with a straight face!
"Of all the things I need you to do," dad says, "I need you to have a straight face."
I have to sit, and look these two in the eyes and calmly explain how the male anatomy finds its way into the female anatomy and a baby is made. Factual, no nonsense information. We just killed the stork.
Like ripping off a plaster
It wasn't as bad as I thought it may be, although there were two points that stood out which I'll elaborate on shortly. Dad did a great job, he's so good at this kind of thing, perhaps I'm so lame because they are little men?
I sit upright beside him, 'just relax', I keep reminding myself and I nod sweetly in their direction.
Wrapping things up, excuse the pun, we cover disease, pregnancy, and the fact that the good old stork is but a myth. We cover animals mating habits, restrictions and privacy, masturbation and self love (the worth kind).
Before we know it, it's all over and as we end the conversation we revise what we've discussed. "So," dad says, "we respect our bodies and we only have sex when we are adults and we love one another. Are there any questions?"
Eldest looks sincerely at his father and says, "So dad, we can't have sex with our cousins?" I hold back the impending burst of laughter by biting down on my bottom lip. "NO! Especially not your cousins!!!", dad exclaims, "Only adults, can put their privates together, adults that love each other."
The little one sits across from me, repeating what dad has just said. He lifts each index finger and points one of each at us and brings them slowly together. "Daddy and aunty X, to-ge-th-errrrrrr" he says and places them side by side.
Game, set, match - and I'm finished !!
Sunday, 17 May 2015
Broody, Guilty, Mad
Since I took on this instant family feat, everyone has been a critic.
My own father brazenly chirped in the beginning that I had chosen this life and that I should live with it. Clearly he had forgotten that he took on my mother who had 3 young boys when she married him.
So I haven't been honest about something, yep, I have a dirty secret.
Seeing as this is a nameless, faceless blog, I'm happy to release my burdens to the world without any real repercussions.
Broody - Prima Donna Me
So I never thought I'd say this but I offered to put a child to sleep, rock him to be exact, while at a braai with friends. The baby was a stranger, so were his parents. But, I offered. Offered. Seeing that we're being honest with each other, let me tell you that I just wanted to feel what it was like to entirely be in the moment of inconvenient motherhood - and I think I'm ready, really ready for a child of my own.
Ask me a year ago and I would have told you that broodiness is natures way of tricking you into conceiving a child - can you say jaded, but the reason will follow. There I stood smiling like the world had just blessed me with a thousand gifts of emotional bliss. His little head rested on the bend of my forearm as I gently swayed him to sleep, rhythmically tapping on his bum and humming ever so quietly to myself. Perhaps a neon sign had erected itself above my head, as a stranger at the braai yelled over to me, "Broody aren't you!"
I was crushed that I had been caught out while relishing in private, and yet there it was for all to see, quite publicly it seems. (Note to self: Work on poker face)
Previously, there was a very palpable annoyance that I experienced when it came to the challenge of putting a child to sleep. I'm sure there are many parents out there scoffing as they read this, thinking "My God, she's got NO idea what it's like to accept that challenge at 01:30 am after 2 hours of sleep!" and maybe they're right. But, right now, I'm yearning for this, albeit the serious guilt, remorse, sadness and a hint of anger I feel about the following dirty secret.
Guilty - My dirty secret
What I haven't told you is that daddy and I met 16 years ago. He was my first love and I was his. I didn't know then what I know now. Firstly that he reciprocated the cocktail of (slightly obsessed) emotion that I felt for him and secondly that we would share the next 16 years together, in one way or another.
How could I have known, I was 17, as ignorant as they came and he had a reputation as a player. Such a "hardcore" reputation that it only dawned on me 8 months ago when we found each other again and recommitted ourselves to a future together that I realised (DUH!) that I was his first - you know - his first, first! Not much street cred there, how could I have been so naive and immature.
I had been so stupid, 16 years have passed. We had enjoyed fleeting moments, club hook up's and the occasional rendezvous over the next 7 years that followed. He had settled down (sorta) after being told that 4 months into his new relationship that he was going to be a dad. I won't lie, I was gutted. A couple of months earlier we had talked about a future. He wanted us to start fresh, his concerns over this new love of his worried him. He had seen the warning signs and chose to ignore them, he confided in me.
We had discussed his worries and while I was trying to be supportive and neutral in my approach (I mean I didn't want to influence his future) I decided to encourage him to follow his heart - and he did, straight into her arms.
In turn I endured multiple failed relationships, two failed engagements and a whole lot of heartache.
Fast forward and here we are, with 2 children in tow. He chose me again.
"It was always you", he had confessed 8 months ago. Words that lead me to realise it was in fact, always him too.
So what's the dirty secret? Well, daddy and I were so crazy deep in love when we met, back when we were teens, that we failed to protect ourselves or at least take precautionary measures while doing the funky monkey - and just like that, we were pregnant.
It was a blur, the kind of blur that one experiences when really, really traumatised. This was a big deal for a Christian girl to handle and believe me my mother took it better than expected, while my father to this day, doesn't know the truth.
I remember wanting to just press the reset button on my life. I was the girl with the player boyfriend remember? What kind of life would this mean for me? I was the girl with the stellar future, the one going places. In my mind he was the player that was just in this for the ride. I had to press reset.
Daddy had gone out and bought himself a cigar when I told him the news. I can't remember telling him, I just remember going for a scan with him and seeing that tiny little bean on the screen. I was too scared to be happy and when I felt compelled to join him in his happiness I felt guilty, after all, I had done a terrible thing. A thing that my very own mother had threatened me with my life with for years and years before. As mentioned, my mother had 3 kids of her own by the time she was 21. I had decided that it was a life that I couldn't handle, I was a child myself when I look back, so how I made that decision quickly is beyond me.
Perhaps a part of me knew I was too stunted to handle the truth. After I terminated the pregnancy at 7 weeks, ironically at the same hospital I was born in, daddy went on a self destruct mission which included a life of drugs, alcohol, nightclubs and loose women. We never lost touch for the 7 years after that, he was my constant. I know everything about his sordid past and he knows about mine - it is the epitome of acceptance and purity. The epitome of friendship.
Many people ask why we broke up in the first place. Well my dear readers, it is because we were both too young to commit, in short he and I were unfaithful to each other, both dealing with some very grown up emotions and hurt each other in the most brutal way - a way that fueled drunken nights, hardened hearts and the most bitter of associations of each other, coupled with a very obvious and tangible love and attraction that is still there all these years later.
My dirty secret is knowing that we would have had a 15 year old child. A child that was made of the purest, most innocent love, a love that has clearly stood the test of time. Here I am raising his children with a woman who tricked him (by her own admission) into pregnancy and then drank throughout both, terminating one in between. Is this my karma or his? Is this God's timing or just the consequence of a poor decision.
Mad - Who would have known.
Every time someone asked me if I regretted my decision to terminate I denied it. I denied it because it didn't matter, I denied it because I had a future ahead of me that didn't include my baby daddy. My little heavenly soul is taken care of. A couple of years ago an ex of mine suffered a heart attack and passed away in his early thirties, taken too soon from his family a year or so after our break up. His sister contacted me at the beginning of 2014 with a spiritual message she had received from him. She had never known of my teenage pregnancy and told me that her brother wanted me to know that he was with "the baby" and queried whether him and I had conceived. I knew exactly what she was referring to.
It took me many years to get to the point that I could talk about it, now I just want to help the youth of today with these decisions, educate them on being 'safe'. Have I screwed up or have I screwed up - wow! The regret I feel is heavy, it weighs on my heart and squeezes my soul. Now, more than ever.
It could have worked I guess, perhaps it would have been to our detriment? Perhaps my greatest guilt comes from not knowing how this would have all turned out. Now I'm raising two young children from another woman with a man who was always meant to be mine. Is this my punishment? God, I want a child of my own. You know my heart, my hurts and my hatred for the decisions I've made. Now that terminated pregnancy matters, it matters now because we're back together, it matters more now than I ever thought it would.
Maybe one day
We sat together at a restaurant table recently, the kids had just returned from the jungle gyms for a sip of apple juice. An older woman sat across from us commends daddy on his strong genes.
"Gosh you have beautiful boys" she says "perhaps you should tell mommy it's time to have a little girl" she smiles suggestively at me. "We're working on it", daddy says, and he squeezes my hand under the table.
Life over the last 8 months, has been the sweetest and most bitter pill to swallow. My turn will come, I'm here, we're in this together.
I may as well accept the beautiful mess I am inside, we have so much history and so much to look forward to.
My own father brazenly chirped in the beginning that I had chosen this life and that I should live with it. Clearly he had forgotten that he took on my mother who had 3 young boys when she married him.
So I haven't been honest about something, yep, I have a dirty secret.
Seeing as this is a nameless, faceless blog, I'm happy to release my burdens to the world without any real repercussions.
Broody - Prima Donna Me
So I never thought I'd say this but I offered to put a child to sleep, rock him to be exact, while at a braai with friends. The baby was a stranger, so were his parents. But, I offered. Offered. Seeing that we're being honest with each other, let me tell you that I just wanted to feel what it was like to entirely be in the moment of inconvenient motherhood - and I think I'm ready, really ready for a child of my own.
Ask me a year ago and I would have told you that broodiness is natures way of tricking you into conceiving a child - can you say jaded, but the reason will follow. There I stood smiling like the world had just blessed me with a thousand gifts of emotional bliss. His little head rested on the bend of my forearm as I gently swayed him to sleep, rhythmically tapping on his bum and humming ever so quietly to myself. Perhaps a neon sign had erected itself above my head, as a stranger at the braai yelled over to me, "Broody aren't you!"
I was crushed that I had been caught out while relishing in private, and yet there it was for all to see, quite publicly it seems. (Note to self: Work on poker face)
Previously, there was a very palpable annoyance that I experienced when it came to the challenge of putting a child to sleep. I'm sure there are many parents out there scoffing as they read this, thinking "My God, she's got NO idea what it's like to accept that challenge at 01:30 am after 2 hours of sleep!" and maybe they're right. But, right now, I'm yearning for this, albeit the serious guilt, remorse, sadness and a hint of anger I feel about the following dirty secret.
Guilty - My dirty secret
What I haven't told you is that daddy and I met 16 years ago. He was my first love and I was his. I didn't know then what I know now. Firstly that he reciprocated the cocktail of (slightly obsessed) emotion that I felt for him and secondly that we would share the next 16 years together, in one way or another.
How could I have known, I was 17, as ignorant as they came and he had a reputation as a player. Such a "hardcore" reputation that it only dawned on me 8 months ago when we found each other again and recommitted ourselves to a future together that I realised (DUH!) that I was his first - you know - his first, first! Not much street cred there, how could I have been so naive and immature.
I had been so stupid, 16 years have passed. We had enjoyed fleeting moments, club hook up's and the occasional rendezvous over the next 7 years that followed. He had settled down (sorta) after being told that 4 months into his new relationship that he was going to be a dad. I won't lie, I was gutted. A couple of months earlier we had talked about a future. He wanted us to start fresh, his concerns over this new love of his worried him. He had seen the warning signs and chose to ignore them, he confided in me.
We had discussed his worries and while I was trying to be supportive and neutral in my approach (I mean I didn't want to influence his future) I decided to encourage him to follow his heart - and he did, straight into her arms.
In turn I endured multiple failed relationships, two failed engagements and a whole lot of heartache.
Fast forward and here we are, with 2 children in tow. He chose me again.
"It was always you", he had confessed 8 months ago. Words that lead me to realise it was in fact, always him too.
So what's the dirty secret? Well, daddy and I were so crazy deep in love when we met, back when we were teens, that we failed to protect ourselves or at least take precautionary measures while doing the funky monkey - and just like that, we were pregnant.
It was a blur, the kind of blur that one experiences when really, really traumatised. This was a big deal for a Christian girl to handle and believe me my mother took it better than expected, while my father to this day, doesn't know the truth.
I remember wanting to just press the reset button on my life. I was the girl with the player boyfriend remember? What kind of life would this mean for me? I was the girl with the stellar future, the one going places. In my mind he was the player that was just in this for the ride. I had to press reset.
Daddy had gone out and bought himself a cigar when I told him the news. I can't remember telling him, I just remember going for a scan with him and seeing that tiny little bean on the screen. I was too scared to be happy and when I felt compelled to join him in his happiness I felt guilty, after all, I had done a terrible thing. A thing that my very own mother had threatened me with my life with for years and years before. As mentioned, my mother had 3 kids of her own by the time she was 21. I had decided that it was a life that I couldn't handle, I was a child myself when I look back, so how I made that decision quickly is beyond me.
Perhaps a part of me knew I was too stunted to handle the truth. After I terminated the pregnancy at 7 weeks, ironically at the same hospital I was born in, daddy went on a self destruct mission which included a life of drugs, alcohol, nightclubs and loose women. We never lost touch for the 7 years after that, he was my constant. I know everything about his sordid past and he knows about mine - it is the epitome of acceptance and purity. The epitome of friendship.
Many people ask why we broke up in the first place. Well my dear readers, it is because we were both too young to commit, in short he and I were unfaithful to each other, both dealing with some very grown up emotions and hurt each other in the most brutal way - a way that fueled drunken nights, hardened hearts and the most bitter of associations of each other, coupled with a very obvious and tangible love and attraction that is still there all these years later.
My dirty secret is knowing that we would have had a 15 year old child. A child that was made of the purest, most innocent love, a love that has clearly stood the test of time. Here I am raising his children with a woman who tricked him (by her own admission) into pregnancy and then drank throughout both, terminating one in between. Is this my karma or his? Is this God's timing or just the consequence of a poor decision.
Mad - Who would have known.
Every time someone asked me if I regretted my decision to terminate I denied it. I denied it because it didn't matter, I denied it because I had a future ahead of me that didn't include my baby daddy. My little heavenly soul is taken care of. A couple of years ago an ex of mine suffered a heart attack and passed away in his early thirties, taken too soon from his family a year or so after our break up. His sister contacted me at the beginning of 2014 with a spiritual message she had received from him. She had never known of my teenage pregnancy and told me that her brother wanted me to know that he was with "the baby" and queried whether him and I had conceived. I knew exactly what she was referring to.
It took me many years to get to the point that I could talk about it, now I just want to help the youth of today with these decisions, educate them on being 'safe'. Have I screwed up or have I screwed up - wow! The regret I feel is heavy, it weighs on my heart and squeezes my soul. Now, more than ever.
It could have worked I guess, perhaps it would have been to our detriment? Perhaps my greatest guilt comes from not knowing how this would have all turned out. Now I'm raising two young children from another woman with a man who was always meant to be mine. Is this my punishment? God, I want a child of my own. You know my heart, my hurts and my hatred for the decisions I've made. Now that terminated pregnancy matters, it matters now because we're back together, it matters more now than I ever thought it would.
Maybe one day
We sat together at a restaurant table recently, the kids had just returned from the jungle gyms for a sip of apple juice. An older woman sat across from us commends daddy on his strong genes.
"Gosh you have beautiful boys" she says "perhaps you should tell mommy it's time to have a little girl" she smiles suggestively at me. "We're working on it", daddy says, and he squeezes my hand under the table.
Life over the last 8 months, has been the sweetest and most bitter pill to swallow. My turn will come, I'm here, we're in this together.
I may as well accept the beautiful mess I am inside, we have so much history and so much to look forward to.
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