It’s becoming increasingly evident that there are simply no cut and dry answers when it comes to single parenting. Lately I have been at such a huge loss for direction and possible actions to take to control of my 12 and 13 year olds.
Some of our experts here at FWW have offered some great pointers and advice; Elizabeth Berger’s insight and words are helpful and this article in particular gave me some clue as to the affects of divorce on my children, but I still feel lost.
And the hardest part sometimes is that there seems to be an issue or issues every single day. Part of me wants to throw in the towel. Part of me feels like crying morning, noon, and night. I feel like I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t.
Funny, I was looking back at some of my very early posts on this site, and so many of them were hopeful and light. If you noticed, my blogs have changed a bit since I’ve returned to FWW. Of course, both of my children are knee deep in the throes of puberty, so you can only imagine what it’s like in my household.
But, like so many other things along this journey with two children only 17 months apart, I tend to go through each phase of their growth and maturity near or around the same time, i.e., bottles, diapers, learning to walk, eat, and speak. So, the struggle is no less, but at least I get over it with for both before I have to move on to the next phase. I’m not sure that’s a comfort after all.
In the end, you know about a 100 years from now, I imagine I’ll know what kind of a mother I was. I figure that when they are out on their own they will show me what I did – damage and all. They’ll make decisions and take actions that will reflect that they were secure in their knowledge that their mother loved/loves them unconditionally and that she will always be there to support, help, and comfort.
Or…maybe not. Who knows. I mean you can read about it, and you can attend seminars: How to Raise Your Children the Right Way in 397,000 Steps or More. You can feel good about yourself as a mother or you can slump your shoulders, hang your head, and take up residence on the Pity Pot (I think I’ve been there all week, fellow single parents).
It’s an ugly place to be. My energy is gone. My sparkle is so dim you can only see it in pitch black.
It’s Monday, and I’m already looking forward to the weekend. My career is demanding, and between it and my children and the dog and the cats and the bills, I feel like I’m lucky not to take up cutting to relieve the pressure.
But as that famous General, whose name escapes me right now, said, “…I will live to fight another day.” But…why does it have to be a war?