DISCLAIMER: This entry involves experiences of bullying, sexual misconduct and/or assault, and self-hate and could possibly trigger a reader who may have (or is still) struggling with any of those issues. Please be cautious.
As with all of my entries and stories, each piece of writing I post here is from my personal perspective, experience, logic, and truth. I do not, and nor will I ever claim, that I know best, or all there is to know, about any topic or experience another individual may have experience(d). These are my words, my thoughts, my feelings, my truth.
Aside from being a busy new mom and loving every minute of it, all I could think about was “How am I going to end this so that it’s finally over?” My mind was constantly replaying our fights and all of the experiences we’d had where I felt devalued, degraded, worthless, and unloved. I knew I didn’t want to put up with it anymore, but more than that, I knew I didn’t want my son subjected to it. It was like I was suddenly awake and I could think clearly about his behaviour and analyze how best to approach an end with him. I knew I had to do it in a way so that he’d want it to end too. I needed to convince him that our being apart would be better for him, not me.
The next time we got into a fight, when it finally turned into a conversation where he was telling me things like, “all I want is for you to be happy”, “everything I do is for you”, etc. I knew it was my chance. Rather than let him go on about it, I responded that I felt the same, that all I wanted was to make him happy but I was clearly failing at it. He stopped for a second and looked at me. This is vaguely how I remember it going:
Me: ”I try so hard to make you happy and clearly, it’s not enough. And you’re trying so hard to make me happy and I’m obviously not smart or good enough to accept it. Maybe we’re just wrong for each other.”
Him: ”What do you mean?”
Me: ”No matter what you do, I’m not happy. How is that fair to you?” Silence. “That must feel so shitty. Everyday you’re working to make me happy, and I just never am. Clearly there is something wrong with me, and you deserve better.”
HI’m: ”What are you saying?”
Me: ”I’m saying that you deserve better. I treat you like shit. And in turn, I’m making you unhappy. It’s not fair.”
I didn’t believe a word I was saying. In my reality, he was the brutal and mean one that I needed to be rid of, but I knew I could never just leave him. His ego wouldn’t allow it. So, I manipulated him into leaving me. After a few more similar conversations, he finally agreed that he’d be better off without me, and he left. I was elated, but terrified. I was scared my son would grow up hating me for not being with his father. For not making it work. But I was confident I could do it on my own and be the best mother I could be. I was afraid of being alone for the rest of my life, but was determined to gain confidence as a single woman. I was devastated that I’d made another stupid mistake, but resolved never to make it again.
Over the next several months I would go on a few dates with other boys/men, but there was never a relationship where I’d introduce them to my son. I finally had standards thanks to my son, and was steadfast in maintaining them. It wasn’t easy though, and I often felt so alone and unworthy. There was even a time or two where I would end up sleeping with my son’s father again. We never officially got back together, but I remember toying with it out of fear and desperation. It was easy. He was there. I was lonely. But each time, I remember feeling sick and dirty afterward.
He remained involved with my son, though I was the primary caregiver. My son lived with me. I fed him, clothed him, bathed him, played with him, adored him, took him to his doctors appointments, and did all I could do to love and care for him in the best way possible. I wanted him to feel so loved there wasn’t any possibility of him feeling unworthy or to doubt his worth. When he was with his father, there were a few times strange things would occur that made me open a file with Children’s Aid, but I never feared for his safety.
Our interactions however, were not good. He’d make a point to inform me of his exploits and freedoms, which I didn’t have, and I often found myself very envious. I never regretted having my son, I just wanted help. I remember the first time I wanted to go out. A friend and I were going out so I asked him to stay at my home with my son. He was less than six months old and still breastfeeding. He played it off like it wasn’t a big deal. I made sure there was breast milk in the fridge, plenty of diapers, and I fed him before I left. I was only going down the street to see a movie, and I would be back as soon as it ended. When I got back, under three hours later, he was furious. My son was crying and he was fed up. He claimed the baby had started crying as soon as I left and hadn’t stopped. He’d tried feeding him, but he didn’t want the bottle. I apologized though I also took pride in the fact that it made me feel like the better parent, the preferred parent. It was very immature of me, but it’s true. So, I took my son from him and he immediately began calming down. This infuriated him even more. He began calling me a terrible mother, stating I should never have left him if I loved him. He told me I should be with him 24/7, and so on. He finally stormed out and left and I remember pulling my son toward me and whispering, “I don’t like him either.”
His father would take him for 2 or more hours here and there, but would often leave him with his mother and father, who adored and spoiled him. Whenever he dropped him off or picked him up, he’d boast about his conquests and parties he’d been to. I always smiled and nodded (I think), but on the inside, I hated him. Sometimes, I just wanted to cry. How was it at all fair that we’d both created this life, but I had to do all the work? I didn’t want him to try and step in and do more, but I was resentful that he didn’t and still got all of the privileges of being a parent to my son.
There was a part of me that wanted to take my son and run away. I wanted to move far away and start a new life. But not only could I not afford it, I also felt I couldn’t do that to my son. How would it be fair to take him away from his father, even if his father was a jerk? Also, what if he got wind of it and stole him from me? We had no legal documentation to support our current arrangement of my being the primary care provider, and without it, I learned, I would have no legal recourse to get him back should that happen. So, that’s when the custody battle began.
Stay tuned for PART ELEVEN: RISING UP
Ⓒ June 2022. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.
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