It’s My Birthday, and I’ll Blog if I Fucking Want To

Insecurity, failed attempts at managing anger and omissions versus a genuine love and compassion for one another, just trying to find the right balance and emotional stability while caring for three littles and a teenager.

We’ve been dating a total of six years this coming August. Although we had our daughter together four years ago, this man always has a tremendous paternalistic love for my children that I was never expecting to find.

Just having left five years of negative relations with my daughters Father, I found myself five months along before even considering pregnancy! It couldn’t have been an option! I was left battling through many restless evenings of nightmares about my minimum wage budget, and how I could even imagine, let alone provide, more than my single parent limitations would allow.

Our story is unique, for sure! We both base our spiritual roots in Christianity but battled with our own stories of addiction. We met in an outpatient rehabilitation program when neither of us was searching for love. Previous to this point, It had been a decade of essential survival. Unimaginable struggles after being orphaned by my poor sickly grandmother and passed on to my neglectful mother; I petitioned the court for emancipation at 16 years of age, and was declared an adult in the eyes of the law. Fucking 16 years old, and my mom wouldn’t nurture or provide the necessary steps for one to function in society, let alone at high school. My Freshman year, many moons ago, an old acquaintance of mine who was eager to show off how talented and sticky her hands had become, caught wind of the abusive relationship between my mom and I, an stops by the house with a garbage bag full of crisp and unworn clothes. Security tagged with metal detectors. (translated to shoplifting)

Mom only noticed after a few days passed lacking any of the desperations one would expect from a teenager in this scenario. I took my very last punches in the head when I ran past her and out the back of the house. She was court-ordered to pay back the money she had confiscated from me, due to the lack of support.

Meeting my boyfriend was a skeptical bout of wanting a chance at happiness and what would this man’s intention be with a pregnant woman? He was so handsome and sweet. What was his real angle?

Although significantly improving who I am now, today. Those earlier years throughout my 20s became focused and very clear to me, the closer to 30 I became, the more acceptable it was for me to lack all responsibility. I started expecting the worst, vowing and daring to assume that I wouldn’t miss out on any chances to level-up… one day—humbled by the Japanese wabi-sabi approach to life. Mental health disparities were always affecting my perspective of the world around me. I continued floating around for years. An immature go at marriage ending in divorce and a few others, irrelevant to the mindset I had towards a sense of family.

I’m in one place spinning out of control, and meanwhile, on another road, a former back injury had introduced prescription pain pills into the once-vital life my boyfriend was leading. By the time the doctor’s office ended the dosage, he was addicted to opioids. Disoriented traffic stops leading to legal issues followed by a probation officer and ten years on paper.

We each had our List of critical basket case issues that we were addressing by entering ourselves into an outpatient program. Sitting across from one another on that first day, I remember noticing his shoes were the same as mine. We’re the only two out of 50 people wearing the same brand of shoes. Cheesy, but the very reason why he even caught my attention. Shortly after that, class ended, and a room full of deprived smokers piled out of the classroom. He and I gravitated towards the back of the line. Small talk to introductions about who we were.

My sister’s husband was scheduled to retrieve me that evening, and as typical, was fashionably late, but I found myself not minding! The way he spoke. The way he smelled. The way he walked. I was recently looking back in time to that moment, curious about what it is I was expecting from his presence in my life.

When the unwanted brother of mine finally shows up, it turns out to be a 30-minute high school reunion between the two men.

And so with the bbq planning, began the first authentic love experience of my life.

The rest of this story is packed full of high peaks and betraying valleys.

Ultimately, we are focusing on bringing up four strong-willed, most beautiful little humans together. Both want our cherished elder’s 1950 moral values of manners and respect instilled into today’s new way of doing things — the millennial life.

The structure was so substantial, no amount of mistakes made between the two of us could utterly devastate this relationship. Or could they?

It’s been daily conflicts for some time now. Energy is pouring out of my soul and not being replenished. Dr. Phillip Calvin McGraw said,” Children hear what’s said and feel what isn’t.” They have precious little concern for me, and so having these Springer episodes as a focal point for reassurance makes me feel ashamed to admit were affecting their foundation or stability in any negative way.

I dabbled with blogging before, publically writing about such things that were filtered and inauthentic to the idea of what I wanted my message to be. My fear of being judged by people in our community held me back.

That’s why I created Sarcastic Mom’s Club with full anonymity. For those of us who no longer have any idea what our damn future holds. For the ones of us who have been in a stubborn silent treatment battle with our spouses, and might soon explode. Listening to a different version told of the most familiar story, expressing how tiring motherhood can be.

We’ve got this in front of us to deal with, and the rest is up to God.

My 34th birthday is tomorrow! Full of grace, I feel so blessed to have welcomed another year of life… Knock on wood.

Never have I ever made a birthday wish for quietness.

*Sips coffee.

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