What's wrong with me
I think that the moment children are born, there is fused an invisible chord that connects their mother to them. We are bound by that, eternally, but it can be damaged. It can be severed. A child can twist it, tug and pull on it, break it, or even rip your heart out with it. Maybe I am being a little dramatic, but it really feels that way sometimes. At four years old, my oldest daughter has already learned how to manipulate. Like a puppet, she jerks my heart around on a string.
My mom, who just came into town, pointed that out to me the other night. Cara was working herself into her usual obstinate “I refusal to cooperate in any way, shape, or form” frenzy, when my Mom turned accusingly to me. “What has happened to you, you didn’t used to be like this?! Take control of your child, take control of your life,” she threw out at me. I threw my hands up, frustrated and resigned, and she took over for me. She knows that since I hardly see the girls anymore, I hate to be the bad guy during the few hours I have with them at night. “I just don’t know what’s wrong with you. When you are here, you’re not really here. You’re not really anywhere…” she told me.
I could not really disagree with her. I felt that way, spread so thin that I am never really entirely present in any part of my life. As a divorced single parent, you have to play every role. Not only are you still responsible for all the things you did before, but the entire other half of things are now also needing your attention. I am comforted by the knowledge that at least I have a family to give me some emotionally support, and I can take the criticisms and everything else that comes with that. I cannot imagine how difficult it is for single-mothers who are truly alone. At least my ex-husband is not a “dead beat dad,” and he actually is an involved father, although I sometime resent it more than I appreciate it. But, I am here. If it sometimes doesn’t seem like it, it’s because I am trying to figure all of this out and still find time to eat, sleep, and breathe.
My mom, who just came into town, pointed that out to me the other night. Cara was working herself into her usual obstinate “I refusal to cooperate in any way, shape, or form” frenzy, when my Mom turned accusingly to me. “What has happened to you, you didn’t used to be like this?! Take control of your child, take control of your life,” she threw out at me. I threw my hands up, frustrated and resigned, and she took over for me. She knows that since I hardly see the girls anymore, I hate to be the bad guy during the few hours I have with them at night. “I just don’t know what’s wrong with you. When you are here, you’re not really here. You’re not really anywhere…” she told me.
I could not really disagree with her. I felt that way, spread so thin that I am never really entirely present in any part of my life. As a divorced single parent, you have to play every role. Not only are you still responsible for all the things you did before, but the entire other half of things are now also needing your attention. I am comforted by the knowledge that at least I have a family to give me some emotionally support, and I can take the criticisms and everything else that comes with that. I cannot imagine how difficult it is for single-mothers who are truly alone. At least my ex-husband is not a “dead beat dad,” and he actually is an involved father, although I sometime resent it more than I appreciate it. But, I am here. If it sometimes doesn’t seem like it, it’s because I am trying to figure all of this out and still find time to eat, sleep, and breathe.
posted by Joy | 3:36 PM
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