I’ve been stuck in a cycle for so long, it’s hard to know where it ends and I begin. I hate him more than I love him. That truth has been weighing on my chest like a boulder. The way he talks to me isn’t okay. He tells me I’ve driven him to this point, that he’s never spoken to or treated anyone like this before. But I don’t believe him. He lies about so much—why should this be any different?
This weekend should be something to look forward to. It’s Christmas time, after all, a season that’s supposed to be filled with joy and warmth. But all I feel is dread. It’s my weekend with my daughter, a time I should treasure. Instead, his mother will be there, and I can’t help but feel the pit of discomfort settle deeper into my stomach.
Why is my mom letting her into our home? She’s made it clear she doesn’t like me—or my mom. She’s not a good woman. In the ten months since my daughter was born, she’s seen her exactly once. She doesn’t ask about her, doesn’t make an effort. Months ago, she claimed she would make a plan to see my daughter regularly. Three months passed before she texted again. Even then, the last time we had a plan, she canceled an hour before.
I don’t want her in my daughter’s life. My little girl doesn’t need someone who will hurt her with broken promises. I’ve been there. My dad was like that—always absent, always disappointing. My daughter deserves better.
And yet, here I am, feeling like I’m the one who’s failing. Everyone calls me crazy, constantly putting me down. It’s suffocating. But I’ve decided to take a step. I’ve signed up for a 12-week intensive therapy program—12 hours a week, more if they think I need it.
Maybe I am crazy. Maybe this will fix me. I don’t know what I’ll find on the other side of those 12 weeks, but I know what I hope for: strength. Strength to finally leave my abusive partner. Strength to believe in myself again.
I’m tired of living like this. Tired of feeling powerless. This isn’t the life I want for me, and it’s certainly not the life I want for my daughter. I don’t know if I’ll find the answers in therapy, but I do know this: I’m ready to fight for something better. For her. For me. For the life we deserve.
This is the beginning of my journey. I don’t know what lies ahead, but I’m determined to keep walking forward—one step at a time.
The Fourth Trimester 