The Demise of a Family

I’m feeling pretty low, so I’m going to write this. Maybe just as a vent but there really is so much to say, and so much encompassed here.

The crumbling of my marriage has made me think a lot this past year, especially in the last few months after separating for a second time. I know, and have for many years, that the relationship is no good and that it must be severed. But deep down, there is some part of me that still longs for that “perfect family”. The one I envisioned before I had kids. The one that has passed and that will now never be. Part of me doesn’t want to let go of that dream. But I have no choice, and I have to.

I wanted a loving husband, a supportive partner. Someone to share life’s ups and downs, the joy and sorrow and everything in between. Someone to grow closer to as the years went by, not further apart. Sadly, I didn’t get that, and I really in ways can’t blame anyone but myself for making bad choices and continuing on down a path I knew wasn’t right early on. But such is life, hindsight is 20/20 and a whole slew of things seem to come together to make the perfect storm at the time that becomes nearly impossible to escape from. The never ending cycle of people, of relationships.

When our kids came, I had a whole new dream…the dream of being the PTA mom, the mom that is involved in everything her kids do, who is patient, who is their biggest cheerleader and always encouraging them to be the best they can in life. Unfortunately, because of my own issues, I was at a disadvantage when it came to parenting, and I never really realized that. I found it to be hard, harder than most and often wondered why it was so hard and not as enjoyable as I had envisioned. Granted, a lot of things contributed to all that – relationship troubles, being alone, family troubles, mental health issues, kids health problems, moving, work and school issues…in short, the stresses of life hit me hard.

For a long time I managed to hold it together. I struggled with my moods, with depression and suicidal feelings terribly. I tried to continue to put on the brave face, to be the “good wife” and the “good mom” and show no chinks in the armor. But it was really hard to do, and eventually I did break.

After having my son, my stresses in life have only magnified. I love my kids tremendously. In fact they are the most meaningful thing to me. But I worry sometimes that I am a bad example for them. I worry that they see me “too sad” or “too angry” or even “too happy”. I try to exemplify all the traits I wanted to as a mom but each day is a struggle when you do it alone and are trying to maintain your own sanity, and take care of the needs of everyone else on top of it. For years, I have been both mother and father, nurturer and disciplinarian. I have to fill every role, and it’s not a natural place to be – to have to be everything to everyone.

Over the past two years the burnout of the stresses of life have slowly crept up on me to the point where I sometimes have so little energy I can barely get up off the couch. I wouldn’t even describe it as depression. More like – apathy, or even ambivalence. A complete drainage of the mental and physical energy that I need just to get through the days. This is life, and this is the way it is. Some things I can work on, some things I can change. But some I can’t. It isn’t going to get easier until my kids are grown, and I know that realistically. My family will never be “normal” and the broken things between their dad and I will never be mended. What’s done is done. And I accept that, but it doesn’t make me happy. Like I said, a part of me still longs for that ideal nuclear family – mom, dad, kids. The happy picture perfect scene out of a magazine.

I wish that life was not so hard and I wish there was more happiness, more lights to cling onto in the dark pit. I take them where I can find them, wherever that may be. And I keep getting up each day and carrying on, because that’s the best I can do. It’s all I can do.