Tag Archives: doing it alone

Get Comfortable (with anger)

This post won’t be easy. This post won’t be funny. Okay, well maybe a little. You’ll probably laugh at how crazy I am.

It has taken me a long, long time to muster up the courage to write this story. To put this on paper. To put this on the Internet. Even now, I can’t write it perfectly. I’ve forgotten things and tucked certain memories away in my brain.

I pray my child never sees this. I pray that I can protect my child from the evilness that surrounds us all, the people who fill our ears and brains with insults and self-doubt. The ones that convince us we aren’t worthy. I pray that being a product of a single mama doesn’t haunt him.

My pregnancy story, and my birth story are tough to describe. I have started this post four times now and I don’t think there’s any way I can spin it to make it sound good. I cant make it look pretty or nice. I can only pray that some other girls who have been in my situation can appreciate this and that people who haven’t been in this situation can somewhat understand.

Its not a story I ever guessed I would have. I never in a million years thought I would get pregnant before I got married. I never thought I would be a single mother. It just wasn’t in my “plan.” It wasn’t in my mother’s plan either, she actually thought my best friend was pregnant when I sat her down in August 2009 and told her she was going to be a grandma. It wasn’t in my dad’s plan for me either, considering one of the first things he said was, “I didn’t even know you had sex.” The first conversation you have with your dad about sex and you’re 23 years old and pregnant knocked up. Not a great moment in my life.

I told Mr. L’s father I was expecting on his birthday – I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I remember him asking for water. I remember him saying he did not want this baby. I remember him saying this would never work. I remember him walking out of my apartment on Washington Street and not looking back. That was August 24. He didn’t call me until September 3. My birthday. (I guess payback is a bitch, huh?) He told me that he had been reading articles online and that what I was carrying inside me was not a baby. It was only tissue and he could have the money and we could just, “go get an abortion and go back to normal.”

I don’t remember what I said, but it must have sounded something like, “go to Hell.” He told me I was on my own. He told me that maybe I could meet someone else and they could raise this baby because he would not be there. He told me, “you’re having this baby to spite me, but you are only spiting yourself.” Not a great moment in my life.

I started to shut down. I was nothing. I was worth nothing. This child was worth nothing. It was incomprehensible. How does someone know you, and tell you they care so much about you for seven years and then walk away from you like you’re no more than some stranger on the street?

I started to question myself. I started to question my ability to be a mother. I started to wonder if life was even worth living. It feels so horrible to write this now, looking back. Needless to say, that first six months of my pregnancy was the most emotional time of my life. I felt completely alone. I shut everyone out. I treated my mother and my closest friends like shit. I was so mad, so mad at myself and at him, I was mad at the entire world.

I started spinning – I called him constantly, badgering him to be in this child’s life. I couldn’t accept no for an answer. I desperately needed him to be there (or so I thought). I went to every single doctor’s appointment alone. Minus my ultrasound where they told me I was having a boy. I pretended to be happy, but it was the lowest point of my life. I contemplated adoption. I contemplated everything. My brain never shut off. I was so afraid Mr. L would have problems because I was so stressed out.

As the days passed, I started to go numb. I started to become comfortable with my anger. I convinced myself that my anger was healthy. That my anger was serving as a form of self-preservation. My anger motivated me to keep going, my anger helped me to cover my wounded ego and all that loneliness I felt. So many people tried to comfort me, to help me. I just couldn’t be comforted. I was on an island all my own. And I had swam there myself. I built all those walls that surrounded me. I pushed everyone away from me. I blamed myself for everything – told myself I was not good enough, that I was a whore, that no one could ever possibly love me, even the child I was carrying. I could never be good enough for Mr. L, I couldn’t even keep his father around.

I invited him to be there for the birth. Despite the nine months of hell I had just been through, I still asked him to be there to witness the birth of our child. He never showed up. I think that was the last straw for me. Not to mention, I had just met the most beautiful human I had ever laid eyes on.

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Not kidding, he was perfect. I couldn’t stop looking at him. I was in complete awe, and as cliche as it sounds – my life changed forever.

It was hard to accept, but it got easier day by day. My family was wonderful. My mom was an absolute Godsend. She helped me with everything. She put up with me at my worst, at the absolute lowest time of my life and she stood by me through it all. Mothers are the most incredible beings. I don’t think anyone tells a mother to do these things for their child, its just something they do. She could’ve told me to deal with my own mess, figure out the whole motherhood thing on my own, but she never did. I wouldn’t be where I am as a mother without my parents’ support.

Gradually, I stopped thinking about Mr. L’s father – I stopped wanting him to come around – my desires actually flip-flopped, I wanted him to stay away. I felt like I had been riding a roller coaster for over a year, and I was ready to get off. I wanted a stable, calm relationship with my child. I didn’t want the drama that came with dealing with his dad.

I stopped being angry and I started getting comfortable. I got comfortable with being a single mama. I got comfortable with my child. I got comfortable with myself. I stopped beating myself up over him walking out – because in the end, he walked away on his own and he has to deal with that. He doesn’t deserve my child, but he is his father. I’m not mad anymore, I’m actually thankful for him.

I think of the moments I have shared with my child. Thousands of feedings, thousands of diaper changes, teaching him things, watching him crawl and walk and run, celebrating holidays. I got to do it all. Even if he started now, he could never catch up on all the moments he missed. He could try, but he could never love Mr. L like I do. From the deepest most inner part of my soul.

I just hope and pray I don’t screw Mr. L up too bad 🙂 I won’t be able to blame it on his father.

If you made it through this post, thank you for reading. This blog has become such a comfort to me. I feel like no one is reading except me. (I like that because it’s easier for me to just type away and not feel so censored.) Everyone has been so supportive and I appreciate each and every one of you for being so kind to me while I spill this mess I call “my life” on you. 🙂

Xo, Jess.

{moment of honesty} this is, hands down, the hardest thing I’ve ever written.

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