EXAMPLE: My Best Friend.

We haven’t spoken in a year. The circumstances of our last conversation were very dramatic. We basically broke up.

I’d like to say I miss her but I really don’t. The person she was, or should I say, the people we were, no longer exist. She grew into a cold bitter hateful person, and I learned that I’m not capable of taking any more abuse from anyone. As much as I understand what transformed her I just can’t forgive it.

I’ve been trying to figure out how for a year, but I’m not any closer to solving that puzzle just yet. Only wanting to forgive her for selfish reasons might potentially be an obstacle. It would be nice to be at peace without subjecting myself to further abuse. Forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting, but I’m still struggling with it.

I don’t hate her per se, but I don’t love her anymore, and I haven’t really liked her for years. I sometimes wish I had someone that I could talk to the way I used to be able to talk to her, but not her. Not ever.

Feels a lot like an ex-boyfriend. We had a long term relationship that was based on love and mutual respect that deteriorated into a bitter hateful end.

People change. The only thing that lasts forever is maternal affection. I know. That’s super negative. It’s just the only thing I’ve witnessed to last forever so far. Technically, I’ve never seen anything last forever, but I digress.

I’ve often wondered why certain movies evince such sharp personal emotional response. Why the fictitious tragedies and melodramas wring rivers of sobbing tears from me. And tonight it became clear.

All the pain I’ve swallowed in the interest of being strong and resilient has collected over the years. I am not the type to sit and wallow, so it rests deep inside like a heavy layer of silt at the bottom of a reservoir.

I generally do not indulge in self pity or prolonged sorrow, but when I see myself mirrored in the circumstances of my buried emotions it is like someone has jumped in feet first and stirred up all the silt.

It billows up like a mushroom cloud in the water. There is an almost tangible cracking in my heart, and the damn breaks. I feel It all so fresh, and with that comes immeasurable relief.

It’s funny the way we humans trick ourselves. The way our pride can do its best to muffle reality but our mind finds a loophole to allow us to realise the things we hide so deep inside.

Sometimes I cry in public. As strange as it may sound the most private place I occupy is the bus. This is the only time I’m alone with myself long enough to think about anything truly personal.

At my job, I’m surrounded by people I enjoy, doing work I’m good at, that is appreciated. Best of all I’m busy. I experience flow. Life outside the office barely creeps into my periphery. I’m blissfully distracted.

At home, I’m busy being a mommy. Mommies have to be focused. We don’t generally have time to do silly things like feel sorry for ourselves or miss things or stop and become immersed in sorrow or worse, self pity.

Mommies are strong, cheerful, stable, reliable kid wrangling Amazon warriors full of kisses for booboos, positive reinforcement, and gentle direction. At least the best ones. We can’t just sit down and start weeping out of the blue in front of our little people without creating turbulent waves of psychic disturbances through the household.

Even if we could, where would we find the time?

But it’s in there. The, tension, the loneliness, the guilt that comes with being a single parent. The longing to crumple and be coddled by someone else for a change. Memories of being loved and in love with the father of your child. Regret.

Sometimes, I know exactly where it’s coming from. A meaningful song, a stupid text. Other times, I’m perfectly happy, but I look over and see one person loving another and its like something cracks and the dam breaks. Saline rolls out and down my face and all I can do is just turn my head and hope no one notices the wacko crying into her window on public transportation.

Pray no one asks, “Are you OK?”.

I’m fine, thanks for asking. It’s a life ache, I just need to shake it off. It will pass. It always does…

“I promise to be the mother I always wanted. I will put my child’s needs before my own. I will not parade a string of shitty dads through my child’s life. I will hold in safe keeping his emotional well-being and protect his little heart with my life.”

Wish us all good luck. It’s probably impossible to not fuck our kids up in some way, shape or form. That goes for two-parent families as well. Most people, even healthy happy people, have at least one weird hang-up from their parents.

My 2½ year old son may grow up without his father, and quite probably he will suffer for that. I this case he is also growing up without a drug addicted, sometimes violent, barely lucid wannabe red-neck. Which makes it ever so slightly less difficult for me to sleep at night in that regard.

It’s my job to do damage control while recovering from an abusive relationship and working full time to support our micro family and cover childcare expenses with no outside financial assistance from the father.

Yay me. I’m not stressed out. No really. If I keep saying it to myself it will come true. It will. I can prove it.

So, yes, I expect that there will be moments when I’m not an A+ paragon of maternal perfection. But I also expect to learn from my mistakes, pick up the pieces and show my boy that when shit hits the fan you’re only real option is to clean the shit off the walls and move on.