My Therapist Said Write
Image credit: Ladonna Broederlow
My journey to discovering my cultural identity has come to a screeching halt as I try to digest the chaos of my life. This will undoubtedly be reflected in my writing, so bear with me. I prefer authenticity in verbal diarrhea. The unstructured,non-strategic expression of emotion for no purpose other than an outlet.
Have you ever wished your partner cheated on you? Something I never thought I'd wish for, let alone wish for daily. I wish he had cheated on me instead. That I could've forgiven. Instead, he did something so far beyond what I ever thought he was capable of that I can't forgive. This is the hard thing about being a solo parent, a solo mother especially. No matter how cautious you are about introducing a man to your kids, there's always a risk.
I didn't introduce him to them for a long time. He got shitty about it. I wanted to make sure I did my due diligence and that "we", my kids and I were ready for this next step in "our" relationship. My daughter took a long time to warm up to him. My son adored him and, in his innocence, still does. He wasn't perfect, but he was perfect for us. I thought my run at horrendous relationships was over and I would be with him for the rest of my life.
Who would have thought that all it would take was a beautiful little girl who depended on me to love and protect her? I ran away with her and never went back.
Looking back at my history of partners (which to date have all been poor choices), I can easily justify leaving every single one. I left my daughter's father after she was born because of domestic violence. We had been together for six years prior. I lost count of how often friends and family begged me to leave. Who would have thought that all it would take was a beautiful little girl who depended on me to love and protect her? I ran away with her and never went back. Then there was my son's father, who I was with for five years. He cheated on me, and I left with two children in tow.
The next was an undercover P addict. I had no idea what I was dealing with. When I came to my senses, I left.
The last one was amazing and didn't seem to be my usual type (type: Dickhead).
The last one was amazing and didn't seem like my usual type (Dickhead). We had so much in common, he was a "good guy" and turned out to be everything I wanted, or so I thought. He was also the only one that truly broke my heart. I can justify leaving them all, yet I still can't help but think that I'm the common denominator.
History repeats itself until you finally learn the lesson the universe is trying to teach you (or something like that). I always thought the experience was around breaking the cycle of "type: Dickhead" and finding a "good guy". When I dug deeper, I realised I equated having a "good guy" to "being worthy". Usually, the ordinary person's "aha" moment. In my case, it was more of an "it took you this bloody long to figure that out" moment.
My poor choices in men have been due to my lack of self-esteem, lack of self-love, lack of acknowledging my worth and waiting for a "good guy" to affirm me. (I sound like an IG influencer posting the random inspirational caption that somehow always ends up being more about them than actually helping the reader). It also doesn't help that kids of solo mums are labelled as baggage, and finding a good guy meant I was the lucky one.
With all the self-love garbage flooding our social media platforms, no one talks about the real dangers associated with these types of insecurities.
I can't tell you how many times I've told people my kids aren't baggage and any man would be lucky to have their love. But here's the real aha moment.
With all the self-love garbage flooding our social media platforms, no one talks about the dangers of these types of insecurities, especially for solo mums. The types of dangers that extend beyond a breakup and are felt by your kids. The types of dangers that are traumatic, devastating and can take a lifetime to heal. I took pride in the fact that I could leave a man if I had to. Instead of acknowledging that I needed to do the hard work and sort my shit out. The good old prevention vs reaction.
I think this time around the universe was so sick of my shit she bitch slapped me with the biggest dick she could find.
I think this time around, the universe was so sick of my shit she bitch slapped me with the biggest dick she could find and fuck it hurt. It also woke me the hell up. If I don't sort my shit out (self-esteem, self-love, self-whatever else is missing), then I'm not a good mum, and I could potentially put my kids at risk again.
It needs to be said, however, that my kids have come out relatively unscathed. Don't get me wrong, they're devastated, but they will be ok. I think I've taken the brunt of it. Well, I pray, I have. If I ignored my gut and he was still here, that would be a different story.
There's also another big lesson. Have you heard of flight or fight? I fight. My default is anger. Shower or fight. Eat or fight. Breathe or fight. 99% of the time, I make the right, conscious decision, but the anger sits on the shoulder of my soul like a little devil. I'm not entirely sure when it started, all I know is it has been there since I was young. As I grew older, I built up a thick skin, withdrew, and projected my anger in self-destructive ways – this is where "type: Dickhead" also comes in.
What am I going to do with this new anger?
I need to give myself credit, though. I have grown a lot over the last few years focusing solely on my anger. Rewiring my brain, building a positive perspective, practising patience and homing in on my empathy. Ironically, I was supported and loved by the man I just left throughout this journey. He taught me a lot (the universe has a fucked-up sense of humour).
When this happened, my anger took centre stage. I wanted to hurt him, and I probably would've tried. A few days later, after I had calmed down, I realised the universe was rechallenging me. This bitch loves games.
What am I going to do with this new anger? The anger I never wanted and was given to me by a man I loved and still love.
The answer: I have no idea.