To Nursing School or Not To Nursing School

This morning I went over to the community college to go speak with the advisor about which classes to register with for the fall. However, because the fam and I might be moving back up to Tahoe at the end of our lease here in September, I told her that I wasn't sure it was the right time to register for classes. I also told her that I've been struggling very deeply with the idea that my mental health is going to prohibit me from picking the nursing route and sticking with it as a career. Basically because I've done this before, where I've had my mind set on something only to not stick with it as a career. I did it in 2012 when I wanted to be a psychotherapist, I did it again in 2013/2014 when I wanted to be a child psychologist, and then in 2016/2017 when I wanted to be a psychiatrist, then again in 2019 when I wanted to be a phlebotomist, and again in 2022 to be a birth and death doula. You catch my drift here?

I am terrified of choosing something so big, such as nursing, and not actually using it as my career. You know what I'm saying? Some things that stick out for me that make me question or doubt this career path aside from what I mentioned above, is that I really want to write. I want to write my book so bad! Lately, I've also been contemplating becoming a therapist of some kind. Or opening up my own food truck. There are too many things I can see myself doing. And on top of that, I worry about my mental health. I also worry about taking too much time and energy away from my family.

All of these overwhelm my brain with where I should take my next step forward. There are so many benefits to each path I could see myself on. And I'm not saying that if I choose the nursing path that I won't be able to write my book, I'm just accepting the fact that it will have to be put off for another unknown amount of time...again. And I really hate that!

Another reason choosing the nursing path feels so overwhelming is because it is such a solidified path. It's such a huge commitment. And I'm not against committing to something so big, I just want to make sure that when I commit, I know that where we are living at as a family isn't going to change up for at least 4-5 years. And at the moment, we're just not sure where exactly we might be going from here. I don't want to commit to a nursing program until I know for sure that I'll be able to stay with the nursing program 110%.

Anyway, I just feel kinda stuck at the moment. I feel discouraged too because I'm already 30 years old and feel this need to have some type of career. I don't want to be a doula anymore. And so my other options are open, but I'm just having a hard time choosing The One thing.

I wanted to vent this out because I feel so discouraged. Why is decision making so fucking hard for me?

It's Been About 4 Years -Let me explain- (Part Ten)

I apologize for my posts being published out of order. It has taken me some time to get these out because of how traumatic the whole situation(s) was/were. I had some saved in drafts with dates pre-set to publish. But for some reason, they have come out published out of order. Because of this, I have made a separate label for them: "It's Been About 4 Years." You can find each part there. I am also thinking of redesigning my whole blog because it just feels very unorganized. Anyway, not that people are really reading much of this blog anyway, I just felt the need to apologize for my sloppy publishing. So...now that we're finally at Part 10...it's been the hardest to write out, simply because at this point in time when I was in the hospital having to reflect on this entire experience while recovering from my third and final cesarean, it's just...tough to go back and feel the feelings. But this is how I heal. And I gotta get it out. It's taken me almost 2 years. So to you, whoever you are, thank you for walking alongside me on this journey. Thank you for hearing me. Even if it's just one person. Thank you. 

***

I spent the next day, scrolling on my phone searching for shelters and low income housing options for my newborn baby, my two young children, and I. What I didn't mention about the previous night is that the night nurse in charge of me and my little baby had come in to talk to me after ______ passed out. What she told me never left me. She came in and sat at the edge of my bed and placed her hand on my leg that was hidden under the blanket. I was breastfeeding Roux and feeling so many feelings all at once. Gratitude at the fact that Roux was safe and finally in my arms and that we were alive together! Anger and betrayal at ______'s obvious attempt to flee. Incredible sadness beyond comprehension that the future family I envisioned was only a mirage. 

I was exhausted, beyond so, like not even fully here in this world. So when the nurse placed her hand on my leg, it grounded me just a bit to bring me back to earth. She looked in my eyes and she told me, "You see that man over there?" She gestured towards ______ who was blissfully passed out in the chair. "Yes." I sighed. Her eyes started to water a bit as she peered deeper into my eyes and said, "You don't need a man like that. This baby boy? He doesn't need a man like that. A man like that will do nothing for you but abandon you and the family, over and over and over again. No matter what you do, or what you offer, it will never be enough to keep him off the drink." I cried. My heart was broken and shattered. She offered me some resources for shelters and suggested I find a new home as soon as possible. I definitely knew this, but to hear it from another woman...made me feel so seen. I spent the rest of that night reeling from everything that happened up until that moment. How did I get myself here in this situation? How could I have allowed this in my life? What the fuck was I going to do?? And then I looked down at my sleeping babe, and was reminded that everything was going to be okay. We were going to be okay. 

______ finally woke up around noon the next day and headed back to the apartment, seemingly having no recollection of the previous night. To say I was angry would be a serious understatement. While searching around for a place to go and applying to the new place that was opening up soon that the night nurse suggested I try to get into, social services came in to talk to me about everything that happened. They asked me if I felt safe. They asked me what I wanted to do moving forward. They told me they would also help me search for a safe place to go if I needed, which I did. They asked if I was going to be putting ______'s name on Roux's birth certificate. I couldn't give a definite answer at the time. 

The day nurse came in and discussed with me that ______ would not be allowed in the building and that security was notified of this as well. I felt some ease from that decision. How he even made it passed security the night prior is bewildering to me. 

I definitely savored the hospital stay. The food was life-giving. Oh, how I needed that food! I felt so fucking drained and empty. The unsalted eggs and dry toast with cranberry juice was somehow the best meal I'd had in a long time. The broths I made that ______ had brought to me in the middle of the night  had only reminded me of the whole incident and I wanted nothing to do with them.

My mom came by and we talked. She brought David and Nakova with her to meet their new baby brother. Little Kova crawled into the hospital bed with me and Roux and passed out next to us. I'm assuming she was right where she had wanted to be this entire time! Poor, little Kova had spent the duration of my pregnancy clinging to my side. Towards the last two months of the pregnancy, she would be so overwhelmed with love and care towards me and her growing baby brother that every. single. day at preschool, she would develop a high fever, and I would need to come pick her up from school early. As soon as we were all home together, her fever would go away. To see her crashed out, mouth open, hand on her baby brother...yeah, she was right where she needed to be.

They wanted to boot me out on day three and I told them I was not ready to go. I didn't want to go back to that apartment. I was beyond perturbed at the thought of being anywhere near _____. I kept getting reminders to add him to the birth certificate. I was still struggling with the decision to do so. I asked my mom if I would be able to stay with her and my grandmother. But because her husband was also coming to town, there was simply no room to stay. 

My best friend came on day four or five...I can't remember how long I could squeeze my stay in. I remember her helping me get all our things together. I kept having to take a break to sit down and cry. I did not want to leave! She held me and comforted me. I remember getting me and baby boy into the car, buckling up, and driving to meet my mom...the reason I can't remember why. But I remember talking with my mom while I sat inside the car and she stood outside the window. I broke down so hard in front of her. I remember sobbing about how I was so scared. I remember sobbing out that this was supposed to be a happy moment...where I was supposed to be going home with my family. Celebrating the joy and wonder of bringing new life into this world. Instead, I was shaking. Uncontrollably crying. Dreading having to be anywhere near that apartment, alone with ______. 

My mom did her best to calm and comfort me. She expressed her sorrow for my situation. She offered to keep Nakova and David with her while she was there. She was sorry I wasn't able to just stay with her as well for the month she was going to be there. She made a suggestion that I just tell ______ to stay somewhere else while I recover so that I didn't have that anxiety looming over me. I thought that was a great idea, seeing as how I knew there were people I knew he could ask. And off I went, back to the apartment where _____would be waiting. 

I hobbled my way to the door and opened it, hands shaking. My cesarean was still pretty tender of course, so the heaviest thing I could carry was my baby. I laid Roux down in my bedroom so that I could go and speak to ______. He was sitting on the futon in the living room and was in a chipper mood, the kind of chipper that seemed very rehearsed. It was strange and extremely off-putting and uncomfortable. I sat down on the ground in front of him and explained to him that the obvious situation we were in was done. I was done. I told him that I needed him to find another place to sleep for at least a week so that I could recover in peace. He simply told me that he would try to find somewhere to sleep, but that he would be working day and night and so I should be pretty much alone most of the time. I found that extremely convenient, seeing as how during the entire pregnancy and at the end of the birth, he always had everywhere else to be but by my side. I told him that I would no longer be trying for a relationship with him and that I had an apartment search going while my mom was there visiting for the month. Basically, I was saying: We are done. I am leaving.

Now, over the course of the first two weeks being at the apartment, he did not find a place to crash. He would work early in the morning, come back to the apartment for a quick change, and go to work at night. Sometimes not coming home until 3am. So, true, he was gone a lot. But I was annoyed at the fact that he was coming around at all. He was getting a ride to his day job from a mysterious woman. And one morning, I woke up to find him face down on the couch with his head fully shaven down to nothing. It was alarming seeing him like this. He was nothing but skin and bones and a shaved head. I remember David coming out and seeing him asleep on the couch and asking me if he was alive.

During this time, I was caring for Roux and getting down a breastfeeding routine. My best friend was visiting me every day. My doula was bringing me food, as was my mom. I was struggling physically a lot more this time so it was hard to stand for a long period of time, I think because I spent 36 hours in labor, half pushing out a baby (which I'd never done before) and then had a cesarean on top of that. It just felt like my body was struggling so much more this time around. It was almost impossible to cook myself any food unless it was something I could just throw into the microwave. That's why I was so relieved when my mom, best friend, and doula brought me easy sustenance. 

I received letters in the mail about my food stamps benefits ending, as well as my medicaid and childcare benefits. This was, I think, the final straw for me that told me, "It's time." My time in Colorado needed to come to a close. It only took me 3 years, 3 attempts, and 11 moves to try to make it work. And I was done. D-O-N-E. There was nothing left for me to build and learn. It was time to come home.

I sat down with _____ for another talk and told him the current state benefits ending. I told him I was losing all of it. I stopped looking for another apartment, I cancelled the current application that I had for the new shelter that was opening, and began talking with my family about coming home. It was discussed with my aunt that the kids and I could come stay with her and my uncle until I got into my own place. I mentioned all of this to him and he was very accepting of the situation and said, "I needed to do what was right for myself and the kids." And so I spent the next 3-4 weeks preparing for our departure. 

Everything that my best friend did to help make this apartment feel like a home, she was helping me take it all apart and packed away into totes and boxes. She helped me with Roux so that I could take a shower or eat a snack. We all snuggled in the sun and talked and laughed and cried about it all. It was the most bittersweet time with her. Both of us, traumatized by this experience together. Her, opening up the blinds in the room and opening up the window to let the breeze and the sunshine in. "Doesn't it feel so good to feel the sunshine in this room right now?" She would exclaim. "Is your smoothie bowl good?" This woman was such an angel.

The last couple of weeks I did my best to soak up that time with her. We took the kids to a Rockies game. Something I had been wanting to do for 3 fucking years. And finally, my best friend, her partner, his kid, and my kids all got together to see a damn Rockies game. It was amazing. It brought back all the good childhood nostalgia. The cheering, the sunshine, the music, the snacks. But this time, I got to share these feelings with my children. It was amazing. 

The final day before we had to make the trip back home, me and Roux went to go see The Cure with my best friend. At just 8 weeks old, Roux was experiencing the magic of music and what The Cure brings forth with their songs. Robert Smith, a total legend, voice completely youthful and unchanged through all these years. A few of my favorites came on, and I danced the best I could while holding my little guy. We swayed, we rocked, with his headphones on, of course (;

The Cure played song after song, which hit memory after memory of my now husband because it was one of those bands that tied us in together. I thought of him so much at this time. And I missed him dearly. I told myself I was a fool for betraying him. He was obviously aware of everything that was going on, as he was in the know since the time I found out I was pregnant. But I was set on the idea that he would never again love me the way he did. Not after how much I hurt him. From The Edge Of The Deep Green Sea played. The Same Deep Water As You played. I held onto Roux and cried. I longed so much. To Wish Impossible Things played and I looked up at the evening sky.

The last memory I had of _____ was when I had to go back to the apartment that night after the show one final time to grab my backpack and other smaller items to bring back to my best friend's house that night since we would be leaving from her place the next morning. I went inside and saw him hunched over the bathroom sink. I didn't see anything until I opened the bathroom door to go to pee and then that's when I saw it all. He had thrown up all over the bathroom. All over. Then I looked to him at the sink which was also covered in throw up. He looked up at me in this sort of apologetic panic and said to me that he had the flu, "I swear." Though I could smell the booze. I looked at him, standing there as best as he could, shaved head, no shirt, skin and bones, blood-shot eyes, spit on his bottom lip. "It's okay, I'll hold it." I looked at him one last time before I turned and said goodbye as I walked out the door.

This was the last that I saw him. That was my final image of him.

I walked slowly down the hallway and cried one final time before exiting the apartment and leaving to my future.

Hold on

Yesterday I received an unhappy email from my old roommate. He was responding to an email I had sent him in December. I had sent him an apology email because I felt like it was necessary for me to own up to my selfishness in the situation that occured in 2022.

See, the original plan was that I would move into an apartment with him, and we would split the rent no biggie. But I was a dumbass and struggling with a manic episode which resulted in an unplanned pregnancy which domino affected into me leaving my job and no longer able to pay for rent.

Now, mind you, my roommate and I discussed this thoroughly and he was very adamant about him taking care of the rent so that I could focus on the health of my baby and I and my other two children. I should have known better, but I did put my trust in him.

It was never my intention to put this financial burden on him. However, he did it make it abundantly clear to me that it was 100% okay and not to worry.

Yes, this is the same roommate who ended up coming onto me in my 7th month of pregnancy, wishing I would come into his room at night. And shortly after finding out that he hadn't paid a dime in rent. Story for another time.

Anyway, though it was never my intention to put any strain on him whatsoever, I understand that I had been selfish in the matter. And I apologized for that.

He responded back in December with something I didn't feel necessary to respond to after that. And then yesterday, I get an email from him at about 1am his time.

Basically, he was apologizing to me, also forgiving me, and then basically telling me that he was thinking of calling it quits and he just wanted to let me know and say goodbye in case he follows through.

At first I wasn't going to respond. I even talked to my sister about it as well as my husband who agreed that no response was best. But...suicide is a toughy for me.

As much as I wish I could just shrug it off or not feed into the bullshit, I couldn't have something hanging over my conscience like this. Look, I've known too many people who "called it quits" or lost their life too early. If I had the opportunity to give them at least more time to think things through, I would have in a heart beat. When someone reaches out to me with even the slightest hint of suicide, I do my best to help them.

Now, most people who are in this headspace don't share with others. I know this. But for me, for the people that DO say something, that is hope. That is someone reaching out and saying, "maybe this one." And if I am the person they reach out to, then I feel a sense of duty.

Maybe that's wrong of me. Maybe it's unhealthy. But I just can't have that shit hanging over my head at night. 

Either way, they are going to do it or they aren't. I have no control over that. But God forbid, he follows through...and if I had not responded, some of his final thoughts and feelings would reflect that emptiness. I don't know. 

I'd rather speak up. Whether he gives in or not, at least I tried. At least there is some closure there. 

Is that selfish of me?

I just feel sad about the whole situation in general. I was always aware of the line the walked. And I did the best I could as a friend for him until he crossed that line and I needed to leave. But no one is ever in control of someone else's life. But I can only hope that he decides to hang on a little longer and find the light in life.

Life's been heavy. And yet, I wish I could carry some of the weight for him so he could think and feel a bit better.

It's Been About 4 Years -Let me explain- (Part Nine)

Fading in and out of consciousness. I could only think of my baby boy.

Was he okay? Can he breathe okay? Is he in pain? Are they hurting him? Does he feel alone?

These thoughts kept me going even though there was seemingly nothing left in me. And I was still numb. And my arms felt heavy even though they were empty. I'd been having the shakes pretty bad for awhile now. And all I wanted was to hold my baby and make sure he was warm and fed and okay.

_____ had met me in the recovery room. He looked defeated, exhausted. I remember laying there looking at him for a good while. I knew we had a lot to process through. He had this blank stare across his face. I can't even remember what words were exchanged. His father had called him and I could hear his voice booming over the phone. "My son, are you okay? Do you need anything?" The conversation they had was very...strange, self-centered, and gross. No concern for Roux or myself. No asking if either of us were okay. No asking to come and visit. Nothing. Just: "my son, my son."

One of the nurses or doctors came in to give me the details of what happened and what they were doing since I hadn't been in the room with him while _____ and him were whisked away. Roux had been taken up to NICU to receive CPAP and a feeding tube. His oxygen wasn't so great and so they wanted to make sure his levels came up before bringing him to me. I asked if he was okay or if he was in pain. She told me he was okay. I was a worried wreck. She wanted to collect colostrum for his little feeding tube. I got 2 oz of the golden milk for him. I asked if they cut him because I did not want him to be cut. She assured me he was unharmed in any way. I asked when I could hold him and feed him. She told me that they hoped for him to be out of NICU by that evening.

And what a damn wait it was.

I refused to rest and close my eyes until I knew he was okay and in my arms. I did anything I could to keep going, even though by then, I had been up for 2 days straight.

As they were bringing me up to the room we'd be staying in, they made a quick pit-stop by the NICU so that I could see my little boy and kiss him so many times.

Seeing his little face with the O2 on him and his little feeding tube made me feel so sad and upset. I just wanted to hold him to my chest and warm him up and let him know I was there and that he was not alone. That he was loved. I blamed myself too. For not trusting in us, me and him, during labor. He was right at the exit and I feel like I could have safely pushed him out if we hadn't of stopped to try and turn him. I mean, he literally went back up and turned around! Poor guy. And I didn't talk to him...instead I listened to the nurse. Being a birth doula, I shook my own head in disappointment.

I think through a mix of exhaustion, stress, fear, and the epidural, I gave in.

He panicked. I blame that on myself. I should have made him feel safe. And the first experience he had with the outside world was fear and distrust. 

And now, here he was with tubes and not being held by anyone.

That being said, he was alive. And he wasn't all covered in bruises or bleeding. All his organs were intact. He was breathing. He was not crying in pain. And for that, I am forever grateful. I kissed him so many times. I told him over and over that I was so proud of him; that he did so good, that he was so strong, and that I couldn't wait to feed him and hold him forever so hurry up and get all better so it could happen! I think he listened...

I was brought up to the room we'd be staying in. It had a nice view. I hadn't even known what time of day it was. I didn't know how long I had been in recovery for. I didn't even know what time Roux had been born. (It was 2:56 pm...the time of his birth). 

After a 36 hour labor and an emergency cesarean, I felt like I had been run over by a train. What's worse about cesareans if you didn't know, is that the nurses come in every so often to press down, not very gently might I add, on the top of your uterus and bring it down to help it contract down and expel more blood. Going over that sore and sensitive incision is not a joy. And I remember squeezing ______'s hand while she did it the first time, and feeling fluid and blood come out between my legs. I did my best to breathe through it and remind myself that this was all a moment that was temporary, and I'd never experience it again.

After a little while of sitting in silence, ______ was there and he looked at me and said, "Well, you're probably starving! I know I am. I was thinking about heading over to the apartment real quick, check on the kitties and Hershey, and bring back some sustenance for you, yeah? You want me to bring those broths you made?" Some relief, "Yes, please that would be amazing. Thank you." "Heard! I'll bring that right back for you, my dear." He kissed me on my forehead and off he went to make the 1.2 mile trek back to the apartment.

A few texts and calls to my friends and family letting them know we were going to make it out alive. That _____ had left to the apartment to grab my broths, that I was waiting for Roux to be brought to our room, and how the nurses hoped that it would be this evening. I looked at the clock and realized it had been a little over 2 hours since ______ had left. I checked my phone, no missed calls or texts.

I was watching whatever was on the TV at the time, doing what I could to stay awake for my little one. I was eyeing the hospital menu trying to decide whether to wait for the broths ______ was going to bring or if I should just order something. But then I realized the time to put in dinner orders had already passed. "Ugh, of course." I shrugged. 

Every time the nurse came in, I'd ask her about Roux. "He's making good progress since you came to see him! Don't worry. You should try to get some rest!" I just slumped my head back into my pillow and stared out the window, a few tears rolling down my face. I could see it getting a bit darker. And I wondered where _____ was. Still no missed calls or texts.

The sun had set. It was dark. Over 4 hours had passed. I still hadn't held and fed my baby boy. I still had not eaten anything but ice chips, apple juice, and tea. I was beginning to worry. The bad butterflies came in and decided to stay.

It must have been about 9 or 10 pm when I got a text from ______ saying something about having gone somewhere but that he'd be there soon. Oh, this was something I'd recognized. I was starting to get really pissed. I had not even held or fed my son from my own body, and he was already off somewhere trying to escape reality.

I was laying there trying to process through everything. Like this entire experience of having moved away from home in California to come back to Colorado and how I ended up getting myself into this pickle. Why had I allowed these people into my life. And just how much I really needed to know my baby was okay and that I could hold him in my arms.

By midnight, I felt I was starting to lose my mind a bit. 

By midnight-thirty I was starting to shut down.

The night nurse came in to check on me and told me to try and go pee. Right then, _____ stumbled through the door. You could smell him immediately. His eyes were glazed. He couldn't look me in the eyes. He held a brown paper bag. Inside were my broths, though I assumed they contained other things first. He slumped down on the chair. "Well, I think I got my job back at ______." He exclaimed. 

(This was the job he left so that he could be home every day by 5:30 to be with his "family." This was also the job where he was overworked, taken advantage of, treated like a dog, and gave him the excuse to abuse substances. This was also the job that he got his ex a position at. Yes, the one who was so upset that we weren't together). 

I looked at him confused. "I was just taking a breather, you know. I went and hung out with ______ and we had a few drinks. Then I came back down to ______ and got together with my buddy from _____ and we had some drinks too." The nurse and I exchanged looks at each other. I felt so ashamed and embarrassed. 

So instead of going home 1.2 miles away to bring back some sustenance for me after having not eaten or slept for 2 days, he went all the way to _________ to get wasted with his ex, then go and drink more with another friend after that because clearly, he hadn't had enough. And no, these were not celebratory drinks. This was him choosing to finally leave us. Even if he'd never say the words. But if his actions that night had words attached to them, they would say, "Hi! My name is _____. This is who I am. And this is the life I choose to live. I will not change. I will always choose booze and sex over anything. The only person I'm sorry for is myself." 

I slid over to the edge of the bed and stared out at the floor. I told the nurse I was going to head to the restroom to try to pee. That's when _____ came over in desperation to try to help me up and over to the restroom, like some sort of hero. He stood there in front of me, drunk swaying, trying to find my hands and properly grip them. I couldn't even believe this was happening. I told him to let it go and go sit down and sleep. He huffed at me, "I can carry you! I will carry you the bathroom!" As he started to attempt to grab my legs and waist, I pushed him away and told him to just let me go on my own. He huffed at me again, mumbled words, and went over to the chair and slumped back down. I carefully stood up, grabbed my IV stuff, and walked over to the bathroom.

Peeing after having a catheter sucks by the way. Every time.

When I got settled back into my bed, I looked at the clock and it was 1 am. The night nurse was still with me, I honestly think out of concern that he was here in the state he was in, and I was alone. I mouthed over to her, "Thank you." She smiled and winked at me and went back to typing on the computer. That's when the door opened and my Little Roux Bear was tube-less and ready to be held and fed. ______ threw his shirt off immediately and held out his arms. The nurse and I looked at each other in disbelief and then I looked over at the doctor who had brought Roux in and I told them, "Please bring him to his mother." ______ huffed again and turned over in his chair and passed out. 

Oh yeah, and not a word from ______, his ex.

It's Been About 4 Years -Let me explain- (Part Seven)

Now, I want to make it very clear that I did not walk into this meeting with a 100% conviction that I was going to get back into a relationship with  _____. I needed to get a feel of the situation from him as well. I needed to hear him speak. I needed to look into his eyes. Basically, I needed to be convinced and feel assured by him. Had I hoped that things would go well? Absolutely. I mean, there's a reason I kept this baby, right? Because I saw a beautiful future with him by my side.

I walked through the coffee shop doors and spotted him immediately. Though I was happy to see him, I was saddened by his appearance. He was very...haggard. Unshaven. Smelly clothes. Dark, baggy, red eyes. To be honest, he didn't look that great. And I came in with a hug, caked in flour and food dust, and into his chest I said, "I'm so sorry. I missed you." And we just stood there in the middle of the coffee shop, embracing each other. His energy felt sad, tired, defeated. The opposite of my energy.

"She's parking the car right now and should be here in just a minute." He said about ______. We both sat in silence when I handed him The Sage Manual. He smiled and looked at me with amazement. "This. This is genius. ____ came up with the idea? We need to patent this immediately." He laughed. _____ came through the door and found her seat with us. She hugged us both. We ordered tea and coffee and some snacks. And the talking began.

There were many apologies. Heart truths. At least from what I could tell. I was also paying attention to the energy between them. Trying to see if they were being strange in any way whatsoever. I got zero bad vibes and felt like he genuinely thought we were absolutely done. I told him that for months, I felt like a dog waiting by the door, whining for her owner to get home. Pathetic. Again, more apologies. He told me the same things that ______ told me about him getting his shit together. He said he was even starting to read up on some birth and parenting stuff. _______ interjected at some point to bring up the Roommate situation and how me and ______ needed to get an apartment together asap. It felt a bit rushed, as we had literally spent almost an entire pregnancy apart, but it also made sense at the time. Plus, it really did feel like the only true solution at the time as his basement was unlivable. 

Things seemed cleared up a lot. I told him his homework was to read through The Manual. He told me that he needed to fly to _______ to visit his grandpa, because he felt if he talked to his grandpa, he would feel much more prepared and ready to have this baby and this life with me. I told him to do what he needed. 

When I look back at this moment, this time we all shared inside the coffee shop, I feel like a little kid. A little girl who has been white-lied to by her parents so as not to hurt her feelings. And it makes me sad for her. Because she was so oblivious.

He walked me, hand-in-hand, back to the apartment where Roommate eventually saw us sitting on the couch together. _______ gave him the stare of death and Roommate walked past in silence. There we sat on the couch, discussing the near future of living situations, job prospects, birth, and babies. He touched my stomach for the first time.

I felt a sense of peace for the first time. I felt a sincere try from him for the first time.

I mentioned how my best friend's partner was the executive chef of a large catering company and that  we were getting him set up with him to have an interview. I worked on a resume for him, got in touch with the chef, and set up an interview day. We also began working on getting him into this apartment complex.

Things were slowly falling into place and I was feeling a bit more at ease. The kids were really happy to have him back around again, and the passenger seat filled again. 

The first time we went to the grocery store together in a long time, he had asked me if he had my permission to buy a beer. Even though it kinda took me by surprise that he was wanting to have a drink, it made me feel like I was at least being factored into his decision, and so I said, "Sure." And as you can imagine, this was my mistake. And as you can also imagine, this was the only time he ever asked my permission to drink. From each day forth, he tacked on another beer. Then wine. Then whiskey.

When we ultimately moved into the new unit (my name not on the lease), his boss had gifted us a celebratory bottle of wine. We had a lot to celebrate! The new place together, the new job, leaving the old one, and the birth of our son (which would happen in April). Before the apartment had even been moved into, he and a friend drank the celebratory bottle.

It was the last week of March, and we had just moved in during my 38th week of pregnancy. I was getting everything prepared and I was exhausted. I was feeling a lot of anxiety and overwhelm. I was having panic attacks and I couldn't understand why. I didn't feel safe. I didn't feel ease. I couldn't let _____ sleep in the same bed as me yet. But I couldn't sleep alone, so my little girl slept by my side every night while we'd watch The Walking Dead. 

One of the nights of that first week, I needed to go see my best friend to sort my mind out. I wasn't feeling good, and I couldn't put my finger on any of it. No joke, when I arrived at her house, the world started to spin again and I thought I was going to pass out. I was lightheaded and seeing stars with my eyes open. I started to get a migraine. She drew a bath for me and gave me a bunch of epsom salt, music, candlelight. She fed me electrolytes and coconut water and liver supplements. Such a amazing friend, and I felt so cared for and so lucky. 

She was talking to me about my anxiety and where it was stemming from. Now, keep in mind, my boyfriend was working an event that night and said he would not be home until late and he knew we were going to my best friends house for awhile. Somewhere in-between recovering from whatever I had just been experiencing and talking with my best friend I received a text message:

March 29th, 2023

9:23 pm

When you get home, we need to talk.

Immediate panic sets in

Is everything okay?

Would you like a hard truth or a soft lie?

Panic increasing

Hard truth?

Fine. You are neglecting me. In like a lot of ways. 

Now this conversation blew up after this. I was pissed to say the least.

Here I was, sitting on my best friend's couch, already a fucking wreck of a person. Questioning this whole experience. Trying to understand where all this anxiety was coming from because I had been so happy and excited back at the end of January when _____ came back into my life. How did I go from that to having panic attacks in the night while 38 weeks pregnant, unable to get a sense of safety and stability from ______. Oh, wait. It's this right here. 

Underlying it all was this mentality that he carried towards me. That, because I wasn't in the mood to basically bend down and kiss the ground he walks on for...helping me around the house and for having a job and helping me with my kids during my 38th week of pregnancy...because I was beyond exhausted by the end of this pregnancy, that I was neglecting him. That, as he said, my "words were empty and meant nothing to him."

I spent the duration of this pregnancy A-L-O-N-E, partially handicapped (not kidding), with zero income, and a creepy roommate trying to tell me he wants to fuck me while I'm pregnant with someone else's baby. After I re-opened my heart and expanded my perspective over ______ and our relationship, I had to move during my 38th week of pregnancy (the 11th move since 2019, another story for later) because Roommate was now leaving his gun out and getting wasted and becoming more of an asshole and threatening me and my children. I dedicated whatever time and energy I had at this point to getting ______ a new apartment (which I had to use part of my tax return money for...but...wait, wasn't he saving up money for the baby? Where was all that money he and ______ said he saved), a new job, while trying to make this new home together actually feel and look like a damn home. Making myself postpartum broths, even though he said he would make them for me. Preparing my mind, soul, and body to have his baby...

But no. I am neglecting him.

At this point I was in tears and the only thing I wanted to do was run off into the mountains alone to give birth to this baby. Hugging a tree and pushing this baby out by my damn self. This was the night I almost left. And my best friend understood why. But she brought me back down to earth a bit. I went to lay down with my kids and prayed to god that everything was going to be okay. 

One week later from this night would be the day I gave birth to my beautiful son. 

It's Been About 4 Years -Let me explain- (Part Four)

So it had been about 4 weeks since the Wasteland trip and 3 weeks since he'd been around. All of these things kept flashing by in my mind. Things I remember him saying. Ways I remember him being in the past. I was flooded with doubt and I was starting to lose trust. I couldn't understand any of it. I figured that maybe, it just wasn't the right timing for both of us. 

I knew, with my own personal shit, that I had a lot to work on. I felt that maybe the reason we weren't working out the way I had hoped, was because I wasn't able to be fully present for him. As you now know, I was going through a grieving process too. I was closing chapters of my life that were necessary to move forward. And so maybe that took away from us. Simultaneously, my intuitive feeling about his disinterest in this baby and I was nagging at me. So I wrote him a letter. 

I said in the letter that maybe it was not our time to be together. I asked him to really look inside himself to see what he wanted in life and that if this wasn't it, to walk away. Very similar to the first discussion we had on the couch. Except this letter was 4 pages long. I really wanted him to take some time to consider us and the life that I presented before him. I wanted him to be honest. Not just with me, but with himself.

Journal Entry 11/11/22-- 

"I want ______ to tell me the truth. I want him to be genuine and honest with what he wants, what he's done, and come clean. So I feel there's a tangible way to move forward. My daughter just woke up and told me: 'The monster took ______ from you.'" -Dec. 2023 Reflections: "Some people don't tell you the truth. They show you."        

A month had gone by in silence yet again. About a week before Thanksgiving, I had an extremely vivid nightmare. Basically, I was outside somewhere with my kids. We were watching fireworks with loads of people, celebrating something. It was evening out. It was beautiful. I remember staring up at the fireworks in the sky and just being in awe. 

Out of nowhere, spooky emergency sirens sounded through the air. Only a moment later, a flash flood came in. We had no time! I found ourselves underwater. Watching these strangers floating by. I looked up and we were immensely deep down under. The water had risen so much in such a short period of time. I had my kids with me, and I was trying my best to save as many people as I could. 

We made it to the bottom of this strange opening in the side of the mountain. I shoved my kids up first, allowing the others to also go before me. The opening was so small and such a tight squeeze, as I had my big ol' tummy to account for, I wasn't sure if I was going to make it through. I squeezed through for dear life. As we were inside, we were all crawling up this long and winding pipe, very M.C. Escher-esque. We zigged and we zagged up and up and up, spiraling up never knowing when we would reach an exit, if we ever would. 

As we approached what we assumed was the top of this now, tower, there was a circular, wooden hatch. Someone pushed it hard open above their heads and climbed up and out. We all followed suit. Once we were all standing at what we thought was the top of this tower, we realized we were actually standing in the center of this pink house. 

(Now this pink house has followed me throughout the years in my dreams. Every time I ask my dad or mom about it, they deny ever being in such a place). 

This pink house's layout is in the shape of either a pentagon or a hexagon, because each side of the shape has a separate room there are 4 or 5 empty rooms. Recognizing where we were, I started to panic. I looked out the dingy windows and saw "the bad man." I quickly ducked and told everyone to do the same. We were all laying on the dusty, wooden floor and pretending to be dead. As the "bad man" came inside, I tried to hold my breath and be still. Hoping my kids were doing the same. I had this feeling that he knew I was pretending to be dead. So he bent down with his face hovering over mine. At that moment I thought for sure something bad was going to happen. But then I awoke. 

At the time, the dream confused me and felt very heavy. I needed to understand the messages! So what I did was I wrote down each piece of the dream: "The Fireworks," "The Flash Flood," "The Escape," and "The Pink House." Now with each  piece of the dream laid out, I closed my eyes and imagined through each piece of the dream what words came to mind and just wrote them down. Here is what came through for me:

The Fireworks: Celebration, crowded, surrounded, explosion, awe, looking up, happy, exciting.

The Flash Flood: Warning, no time to prepare, drowning, deep, save as many as you can, nothing left.

The Escape: Last, small space, squeeze, difficult, scared, worried, higher ground, crawl, climb, fit, maze, hurry, rush, chute, hole, confused, tiring, pregnant belly.

The Pink House: Abandoned, can't touch/don't touch the floor, avoid, hide, window, outside, dusty/dirty/gritty, empty, trashed, abandoned items, rooms, play dead, pretend to be asleep, be quiet, not supposed to be here, caught, bad man.

Do you see what I see? This was so alarming to me. Every. Single. Word. Was like telling me this emotional story of the experience I had been living since getting pregnant. From the excitement and celebration, to the suddenness of this emotional flood, feeling like I was drowning, holding my children alone and trying to save what I could. Even when there was nothing left. Searching for higher ground; a place to escape. Climbing and crawling, even when I was exhausted and didn't even know if there would be an end in sight. And just when I think we've made it out, I realize we've been abandoned. We've been here before. And before I even had the opportunity to leave this place of abandonment, something ominous was waiting to get me and my children. Something made me feel trapped inside this place of abandonment. And to avoid any further harm, I felt it was best to just lay down and pretend.

BOOM! Mind-fucking-blown.

I was angry. And I didn't know whether to be angry with myself or The Man Who Left Us, even when he said he'd be here for every moment. Funnily enough, during this time, I had the absolute worst case of strep I'd ever had. Like, swallowing-razorblades-bad. Like, couldn't-eat-Jello-bad. Talking was a no-go. It was like my throat chakra said, "Nope! No talking! You need to look within and FEEL what is happening." 

It was also during this time that The Man Who Left Us explained to me that, "You could love more than one person." Um, what? He had also invited his ex-girlfriend to MY Thanksgiving that I was going to throw. His ex-girlfriend who had not yet said a single word to me since this baby became news to her. His ex-girlfriend who was totally okay with him traveling her way to spend nights instead of with his pregnant girlfriend. Luckily, I was extremely sick the entire duration of November, starting with strep, getting the stomach flu, and finishing off with food poisoning. 

By December, with his continuous absence, and occasional texts such as this one: "I do miss you terribly." I had been driven heart-crazy. Two months prior, I even wrote a break up letter and invited him to his dad's house so I could read it in front of them both so there was no mix-up. Guy didn't even show up for his own break-up. 

After drunken voicemails in the middle of the night, and his dumb texts, I was done. 

So what did I do? I wrote of course! I needed to write out my anger. And then my heart. This is what I wrote:

Note #1:

You say you miss me terribly
But why?
You say you miss me terribly
But where have you been?
I’ve been here in my room for 6 months
Breaking down into mush like the caterpillar in the cocoon 
While feeling the movement of this baby turning into my wings.
The foundation of my future: ____.
The joint that connects my shoulder blades to my wings.
Safely decomposing for 6 months.
Fiercely rebirthing myself for 6 months.
And I will rise like the phoenix out of the ashes, baby boy in my arms.
But you say you miss me terribly.
After the promises you broke with me, I’m supposed to believe
You won’t break promises to this baby?
You already broke your very first promise to HIM!
“I want this. I will be there.”
But it’s been 6 months and you miss me terribly.
10 city blocks between us at any given moment.
But you’d rather have a shot and a beer.
You’d rather slave your life away in a dingy kitchen.
You’d prefer the company of your ex.
As you said, “You can love more than one person.”
I’d like to challenge that and say, “You can have more than one attachment.”
You cannot be in love with more than one.
And I’m the one who wanted this family.
I chose you thinking I was your one.
Because your words are magic tricks.
Your best performance yet!
You’re so good at looking me in the eye and spewing your illusionary lies.
How does it feel?
How does it feel to miss me terribly?
Because I don’t believe you.
This was my biggest lesson in life
And boy, am I learning.
So for that, I am grateful.
You taught me how to love myself.
To stand up for myself.
To finally understand my self-worth.
And I grew from my tears that soaked into the soil
The days and nights spent crying over you, wondering when you were going to show.
It shouldn’t take you 6 months to decide what you want
If you say you love me
If you say you want this
You would be here
And not sending me dumb texts saying,
“I do miss you terribly.”
I should have known,
When I wrote that letter asking you to look inside
And ask yourself if this was the life you wanted
If it wasn't a Yes, it was a No.
No.
You don’t get to miss me anymore.
I’m already long gone. 
Not looking back because the future ahead is too beautiful to look away from.
I can’t take my eyes off it!
Even the stinky diapers.
Even the late nights and early mornings.
Because hearing the word “Momma” is a treasure no one else can gift me.
Better than any feeling an external substance can give me.
You say you miss me terribly
What about me do you miss?
Can you even tell me?
Do you honestly think that I’ll keep letting you come back
Every time you feel sorry?
Thinking I’ll continuously forgive you
And calling that love?
What about me do you miss?
Truly.
Tell me!
I’d love to know.
For all the words I’ve given you
You haven’t shown me one.
But you miss me terribly?
Yeah.
Right.

Note #2:

Dear ______,

(Speaking from my pain and anger):
    

"I have never in my life been made to feel so completely insecure. And that says A LOT. I spent the duration of my childhood and teen years being treated like a ghost, like I didn’t matter. And the ones that did pay attention to me, bullied me. I spent lunch time mostly alone in the bathroom stalls or hanging out with a teacher in a classroom. I spent my time in the library alone, looking up strange things because no one else seemed interested or curious about the same things I was into. I spent time alone in my room with my stuffed animals because they were the only ones who played with me and allowed me to explore my imagination to the fullest extent without any judgment.
    The few friends I did have would all eventually put me on the backburner or treat me like I was some sort of freak. My own father couldn’t keep it together enough to be there for me. My mother was in her own world too. I was a ghost. I loved a man who was 5 years older than me, and I felt I was a constant background in his life because he was an adult and I was not. I fell in love with a man who was almost 15 years older than me, and fell in love with his kids who were only 8 years younger than me. There was a lot of time spent hiding out in the back room because his kids made me feel like the little girl I was when I was growing up.
    I’ve been going through this life a damn ghost, and nothing has come close to how this situation with you has made me feel. I have never hurt so much before. I have never felt so betrayed. So damn insecure. Here I am, carrying your baby, and it’s not enough. You can’t be here. And top of that, continue to rub in my face how you can love more than one person. What does that even mean??
    I thought I was your girl. You spent time with me, building me up and up. Telling me all the things I wanted to hear. You said you wanted to move in together. Get a house. Build a life. Then you switch up last minute, leave to fucking Wasteland, block my number, come back, and instead of being here for me, go and spend time with your ex-fiancé?? You said to show you that I want or need you here, is the baby in my stomach not enough for you??!
    You said you were excited. You said you’d be here for all the moments. To feel the baby when he moved. (Oh yeah, it’s a boy!) To rub my belly and lay next to me. Well it’s been almost 23 weeks and you have yet to even touch my belly. To even hold me close. But sure, go ahead and invite your ex fiancé over to my fucking thanksgiving, even after I told you how I felt about you and her. But okay.
    I fell in love with a little boy. Someone who would rather stay stuck in the shit. Someone who’d rather do whatever he wants than what he needs. It was all fun and games when we could just do whatever together. The second it got serious you had to question us right? Then try to convince me this is what you wanted. Only to not fucking show up. Fuck you.
    Go have fun with fucking ______ and your drink and drug and cooking and cats and basement and stomach issues that stem from alcoholism. Go have fun with all the loves of your life because you have the fucking freedom and the right to love more than one person after convincing me I was yours. You have hurt me. More than anyone ever has in my whole life. You have neglected me at the most vulnerable moment in my life.
    How can such a gentleman such as you, be such a damn dog. I have been made a damn fool. Falling for you. I should have never let you in. I take full responsibility for this pregnancy. I am accountable in my decisions. But you said you wanted this too. You said you’d be here. And YOU are not. I let you into my life, which includes my children. And even they developed a relationship with you.
    Did you know they ask about you? Did you know that they call the passenger seat “______’s seat?” Did you know they still talk about you like they are expecting you to walk through the door? Fuck you. I did A LOT of complaining about my ex. But you know what, at least he came home to us every night. At least he made me feel like fucking family. At least he cared. He may not have been present all the time, but he was there for us in the end, and still is to this day, even though he lives over 1,200 miles away...he’s still more here for us than you ever have been and you live 2 miles away. Fuck you.
    You know, you are just like Valentine in that you are a liar and a thief. A coward. If your tower ever does come, don’t come trying to get me back. I’ll have already made it to another fucking planet without you on it." 

(What does my heart say):
    

“I trusted you to love me. I wanted to believe my feelings. I saw the best in you. Even though I was scared, it’s because I saw the potential of true love and life together. So it hurt when I realized it was false. I blamed myself. I had every faith in us, that’s why I decided to keep this baby. So it hurt when you didn’t choose me back.
    I was heavily triggered by your actions and inactions and I felt like I did growing up through the years, which is something I know I do not deserve. I let you go so that I would stop hurting myself. I chose me in the end because I do not need your love or care or support, as much as I may want it. I chose to see you for who you really are and not what I wanted to see.
    I stood up for myself because, now, I genuinely love myself. I know what I want and what I deserve. And it’s okay if you aren’t the one for me. It will take time to heal from this pain. But I know I will be okay. I am free of you. You can no longer hurt me.”

I never sent any of these rants to him.

By Christmas holiday, I was done waiting. He even had the balls to ask me if he was still coming with us for family Christmas.

My response to him was this:

    "I never once told you that I didn’t love you. That I didn’t want to do this with you. I needed to feel secure and stable with you. I sought that time and time again. Gave you every opportunity to show me that this was what you wanted. When I told you we weren’t ready for a relationship, that wasn’t me telling you to fuck off. I specifically asked you if this life with me was what you truly wanted. If it was something your heart said yes to. To take time to see what your truth was. I didn’t stick around after that because it was immediately obvious that this life with me was not your truth.
    But I hoped. I genuinely hoped one day you’d wake up and realize what we could be. What we could build. Who I could be for you. And you’d show up. And you’d be here. Doing this with me. But you went the other way. I tried not to let it get to me, because I was the one who gave you the opportunity to follow your true path. To be true to you. To let you decide.
    I guess there was a big part of me that thought you’d choose us, because time and time again you told me that we were what you wanted. This. Us. But it’s been 6 months. 6 months of me hoping and praying and crying and doing double takes at the door. 6 months of me wondering. But you’re not here. So I’m trying to let you go and move on. I have no other words for you. Nothing left. So all I ask is for you to continue to please leave us alone. Please.
    I don’t want or need you to text me saying you miss me terribly. Or that you’re still here. Because frankly, if you missed me or if you were or had been genuinely here, you would be physically here. There’s 10 blocks between us at any given time. And you will travel to _________ or _________, but never down your own street to the people you so often called “family.” So please, continue to leave us here. We are okay. Be well and take care of yourself. I will always wish you well." 

-sage

I took a deep breath and let it out. I felt a bit lighter. And I knew I needed to move on and focus on preparing for labor and allowing myself to be alone with this journey. And you know what? For the first time in the pregnancy, I felt pretty okay. I was finally finding my own way on this strange path. Building confidence in myself and the ability to do this on my own, with the help of my best friend and my doula. And then Christmas happened.