Truth and Reality

Here is the reality:

I wake up at six every morning, usually with one or more kids sleeping in my bed. No one sleeps well these days.

I go to work, struggling to find a routine, to find my place. I worry I'm not doing a good job.

I come home, just in time to help get the oldest from the bus stop.

Walking back to the house, I pass his car. Sometimes it's there. Sometimes it's not. He lives across the street from me. His life is his own business.

He lives with his aunt. She was my friend. She might still be my friend. But I don't know. My feelings about his walking away from all of us, and getting to walk right into her home, makes me feel like my feelings are completely invalidated. Like the heart break I feel, the gut wrenching, chest tightening, rivers of tears pain I feel doesn't matter. It's all for the kids, right? It doesn't feel like it.

"We would have done the same for you," she said. That's easy to say. I didn't walk away from my family.

I asked him today to please be with the kids for an hour. Just an hour, so I could get the oil in the car changed.

"I have plans." he replied. "I'll be out." Smug. Smirking. He ran by us today, as we walked home. He reminded me again that he had plans.

Congratulations on being out. I'll be taking care of my kids after a long day at work. I'll be fielding their questions on why they can't see you tonight with generous answers of "it's just not daddy's night," instead of, "Daddy would rather spend time with other people than you."

Do I sound upset? I am.

Here's the truth, though:

I wake up at 6. Shortly after, my sweet cousin, who isn't even my blood relative, shows up to baby sit. She makes me breakfast, she packs my lunch, and she gets the kids ready to walk to the bus stop.

When I arrive at work, I'm surrounded by coworkers and friends who love and support me in my goals. Who saw me cry at the end of the day, and put their arms around me and told me it would be ok. They're here for me.

When I come home to the bus stop, my youngest babies are waiting there, arms stretched out and running across the grass waiting for me.

We walk home, his car is sometimes there and sometimes it's not. He ran by us. It hurts. I won't deny it. Seeing him, knowing he is with other women, knowing that we mean so little to him...it hurts.

But it won't always hurt. I can't see through the darkness right now. I can't imagine a day when I won't look at him without feeling loss, and anger and hate. But my cousin said to me, "You're in the dark of the cavern, but don't start trying to sprint out. You'll just be hitting the walls. Walk slowly, and believe eventually you'll see the light."

When I feel like falling apart, I tell myself, "It's not my loss, but what I've gained."

His cruelty and indifference are not my loss. I've gained freedom without him.