I've realized that doing this, whether someone reads it or not, is cathartic for me in a way. These past few days without my internet connection have been horror for me. I finally got on line tonight, and I read a blog that literally still has me crying my eyes out. I don't think I spend enough time with John. I don't think I'm doing my best as a mother. I know I could be doing better. Sometimes I feel so guilty for all the things that boy has had to go through because of choices I made. I should have left his father when I was pregnant with him. But then I wouldn't have Andrew....it's hard. I tear myself up daily because I hate myself for tearing my family apart, when I'm not the one who tore it apart. Granted, I'm the one who finally said it was over. My ex would have been content to go along with how we were for forever I think. Still to this day he claims he didn't know anything was wrong....(no job, sleeping with my "friend". Yeah. Nothing's wrong champ.)
I guess it's because divorce was always a dirty word when I was growing up. I was raised, taught, that divorce is a last resort. And I still firmly believe that. You should never get married with the hindthought, "Oh, I can just get a divorce if he turns out to be the wrong guy." I didn't, but I also didn't have a clue what I was doing when I was 18, either. I made a mistake, but I intended to stick with it and turn a negative into a positive. Thing is, you have to have equal sides participating for that to work, and obviously, I didn't. I still blame myself. Like I didn't work hard enough to save it, or I wasn't worth changing for, or much worse. I am afraid that someday, my boys will look at me with hatred for leaving their father. For moving on with my life. In an act of teenage rebellion, anything can happen.
I know in my heart of hearts that Quin and I are raising these boys to be hard working, honest men. But that doesn't mean that on the way they aren't going to decide they've had enough of the structure and rules and decide they would rather live with their dad. A place where not only is there no structure or rules, there's no safety, caring, nurturing, love. I didn't have to watch my ex with my son for long to know he didn't want to be a dad. I remember specifically not too long before I told him to get out, an incedent where I needed help with a 15 month old John. I was pregnant with Andrew at the time, and trying to set up for my younger sister's graduation party. We were living with my parents at the time, and he spent almost all of his time in their RV. I called him in the main house to help me out with John, and at first he told me no. Then I straight up demanded it, and he came stomping in, grabbed my baby by the arm, and practically drug him from the room. His own son, because he was mad at me. That didn't fly. I went and took John away from his father immediately and told him not to touch my son. It wasn't too long after that that I told him to pack and not come back.
I just need to keep those memories at the forefront of my mind, because then I can remember that it's not my fault, and John will make up his mind someday. I know he will make the right decision.
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