Thoughts by Jen

In explaining my life and who I am with my initial post, I mentioned that I found myself pregnant at the age of 20 – an age when I hadn’t yet begun travelling the road of healing.

I met J’s dad at my new job, and we instantly clicked. We were together for a mere 6 months when I found out that I was pregnant. I remember the moment of conception – just a simple moment of unclear communication. And I had an inkling that it was coming… sure enough – one week after a missed period, I took the test. Positive.

I don’t think even another week passed before I bought J’s first piece of clothing… a yellow onsie from Old Navy.

And so, we did what we were supposed to do. He got down on one knee after having only known me for 6 months, and asked me to be his future wife. Of course, I agreed, and we laughed and cried and hugged. His mother helped us buy a home together, and we went on the rollercoaster ride of pregnancy.

I definitely remember those times, and I remember myself – but the difference of me today and me at 20 years old, is at that time, I didn’t know myself. So when I look back at the person I was 16 years ago, I don’t have a clear picture of her in my mind’s eye… because I didn’t possess a clear picture of her then. I’m not saying I don’t know her – because I am she. She is me. But I didn’t have a deep relationship with myself then. Perhaps no one does – at 20, you’re just beginning to learn life as an autonomous being.

We can probably insert a million stories right here in this slot of the progression… they meet, they get pregnant, they have the baby, things go awry somehow, they break up.

We never did marry. I think we instinctively knew that we weren’t well-matched. I don’t want to intimate that we couldn’t have made a successful partnership, because 16 years later, I think we might could have worked, but it would have been near impossible… and I think that because of me. I’d been through so much and hadn’t even begun to do all the inner work that I needed to do in order to become a functioning human.

In fact, I feel a bit sorry for J’s dad and the things he had to deal with – I was quite a lot. I didn’t know how to control most of my bouts of depression or my rising tide of anger at that age. I remember opening up to him about my childhood and just completely and wildly sobbing, shaking with pure emotional pain and grief. In fact, I can recall a good 5 separate memories of me wailing and crying and that poor boy just holding me through it… But it wasn’t all overly-emotional and personal. I once cried for 45 minutes because I had to go to work. I remember him asking “what do you want me to do?” and the answer was absolutely nothing – I’m just crying because I need to. #pregnancy.

I peed on our couch two different times because the baby was sitting on my bladder and I cried both times because I was embarrassed and uncomfortable, but I’m pretty sure I ended those boohoo sessions with laughter. We had a lot of fun, too.

I think, really, in the end – I wasn’t emotionally mature. I wasn’t healed. I was carrying the weight of being terrified of being my mother. I was scared that maybe I’d be my grandfather? How do I know what makes adults hurt children? How do I know that I didn’t possess the same qualities that my ancestors held within them that caused them to hurt me? How could I be sure that I wouldn’t hurt my child too?

This past Christmas, I met J’s dad to pick up my son and we drove to celebrate Christmas Eve with my family and stayed a few nights on the beach in a beautiful hotel. On Christmas Day, J actually drove my car back to Louisiana where he lives with his Dad, Stepmom, and brother. I had the beautiful opportunity to experience their Christmas with them and meet my son’s girlfriend. Per tradition, we opened Christmas crackers, placed the paper crowns on our head, and read the jokes aloud to one another. This year, as in past years, their home was filled with friends, family, and loved ones.

I was pretty awkward in the beginning (because that’s who I am) but after a few glasses of wine, I relaxed and began to enjoy the lively, familial atmosphere. We drank, we laughed, we snacked, and we played games. It was a beautiful evening.

Afterward, I stayed the night at my son’s stepmother’s mother’s home. Feel free to read through that sentence a few times – I know it’s a lot.

I told J’s dad a few months ago – “I always tell people, if this is the way my lifestyle had to be, I’m grateful that you and your wife are on the other side. I appreciate you both being the way you are and have always been”.

My relationship with J’s dad ended about 2 years after it began. And since that time, we’ve crossed a lot of bridges and worked through many moments… we both moved out of the state where we met and continued our lives. And it hasn’t been easy sharing a human that we love…. and the point is that one of us had to let go. One of us had to step up as tribute and give the love of our life to the other one.

And out of the two of us, I truly felt like he had the better capability… and that isn’t something that you can tell other people, is it? I have decided to let my child grow up in my ex’s home because I trust him more than I trust myself.

Who the fuck would do that?

At least that’s how I’ve always known that people feel about my choice. But to really understand my choice, they’d have to really understand me as a person… and that story that I’ve posted on the internet for anyone to read isn’t a story I am always willing to verbalize to people in an effort to justify my extremely personal choice to step out of my child’s way – to give him a stable, beautiful environment and a loving family to grow with. I didn’t have the ability to offer him those things at that time of my life. I had a long way to grow.

I’ll be 37 this year, and my beautiful, smart, empathetic, funny boy just turned 15. He’s articulate, confident, athletic, and incredibly capable. I can’t put into words the pride I feel when I think of who he is as a person… and mostly my personal pride is that I made the right choice. I have tried my best to stay out of his way but also support him in whatever way I can. To help him when I can, how I can, in whatever way that looks like.

Years ago, I decided that since we get limited time together, I’d try to take him on trips with me instead of buying him things. We’ve been on a cruise to Mexico, we’ve spent Christmas in Nashville, we’ve eaten Wagyu in Puerto Rico.

His life is anything but traditional in its truest form – and I have empathy in that regard as well.

It didn’t take me long to realize that he keeps me a semi-secret. Many of his friends and teachers don’t realize that he has a biological mother in the shadows. I’ve tried my best to attend his events if and when I can, and I’ve experienced the surprise when I’m introduced. I notice that he has no pictures of me or our experiences on his social media accounts. I’m not always brought to the attention of others when his parents are discussed.

And I don’t blame him for wanting his story to fit into that box of normalcy. I don’t begrudge him his choice for wanting to seem what others deem normal.

Over Christmas, I was telling him about my new friend and he asked, “Does he know I exist”? To which I heartily laughed… “Of course he knows you exist – everyone in my life is fully aware that I have a child”.

“Well, not everyone in my life knows about you” he said. “A lot of my teachers and friends don’t know I have a different mother”.

While, yes, it hurts my feelings – I understand. A lot of what I’m talking about in this blog is our innate desire to fit into the impossible standard. That’s why I write – to help convince others that it’s actually our unique experiences that truly create the beauty of who we are.

As we live, our experiences provide the layers that color the canvas – our love, our loss, our grief. It chips away, creating the depth, the texture, the shades, the shadows, and the light. We are an amalgamation of endurance, resulting in the individual beauty of our existence.

I’ve known for a very long time that my choice to let my child grow up with his father would result in moments like this – but my child gets to have that choice, too. My first prayer was answered – that he get to experience a full, rich, healthy, and loving childhood. The only prayer I have left now is that when he grows into maturity, he realizes how lucky he is – and that his story is precious and beautiful and is an amazing example of how life isn’t perfect, and it doesn’t have to be.

I, too, can’t begrudge him his choice to hide me at times, because I went through the same experience. J first started living with his dad full-time when he was about 3. The first year, I didn’t know how to answer questions about whether or not I had children. There were times when I felt too guilty or too embarrassed to admit that he lived with his father. What kind of a mother doesn’t have her child? What is wrong with you, as a person, that you don’t get to raise your child?

There are times when I’ve told my story to people I considered friends and I felt them waiting for the answer of what was really wrong with me. What caused this to happen? What secret are you hiding from us?

At some point, though, I thought – hell no. I won’t hide this piece of myself just for the sake of not being judged. There is no one on this planet who can come close to judging me as much and as harshly as I’ve judged myself. And while my life is far from picturesque, I am worthy. My life is worthy. My existence is worthy. My story is worthy.

I stepped into the light of my personal truth. It took time and practice, but I am one who bears my soul to all who care to see. Judgment does come, but it doesn’t break me. People have the right to judge others as they see fit – and honoring my personal truth leaves the people in my life that accept me for who I am. And I’m surrounded by people who accept me and love me.

I’ve never had another child. That isn’t on purpose, but there was always a piece of me that thought I’d feel too guilty… that maybe I didn’t deserve another child since I gave the only one I had away. It’s been difficult not to use my personal pain as self flagellation, but I don’t think that’s the right way to live. We have to accept things as they are, be thankful for the good pieces, and have faith that God gives us what we can handle. He gives us what will make us the strongest and best versions of who we can be. The person he knows we can be.

If you’d laid my future life before me in the beginning, there’s no way in hell I would have agreed to participate… and yet, as I sit here today, I’m so grateful for my life. I’m so thankful for my experiences and the pieces that have collated together to result in who I am.

I’m grateful for the presence of love that exists between my son and me. I’m joyful for his beautiful spirit. I’m proud of his strength and his wit. I’m endlessly thankful for his cameos in my life and the time that we get to share. I’m so proud of the man he’s becoming, my cup overfloweth. And whether it’s right or wrong, I take pride in knowing that I played a small part, too, in his creation. That is the most beautiful part of all – that he exists.

Yes – I am a mother… but there’s a caveat. I am a mother unrealized. A mother who didn’t really get to mother. But that’s okay. I am a mother. And I love my child with my whole heart. In the meantime, I’ve worked relentlessly on becoming a version of myself who can give, love, and fulfill. And I believe that my version of motherhood is also important. To give and love and fulfill in whatever way is best for your child. To love him from afar and fill in the gaps where I can is still adding to his life.

I have experienced the pregnancy, and the birth, and the diapers, and watching my son grow into a full-fledged person. I have had an experience that some women don’t get to. That in itself is a blessing that I can take away as well. To know what it is to be a mother in itself is a beautiful, wonderful gift that I refuse to disavow. I am thankful. I am grateful. I am alive. I am whole. And I believe my son has been raised as whole, too.

Perhaps my sole regret is that I created a piece of his life that he feels the need to hide away – but again… I know he’ll grow into a version of himself that loves his whole self. His secret mother, included. I know he loves me. And I love him. I have a hunch that when he’s a full-grown man with children of his own, and worldly experience, he’ll see just how lucky he is to have been so deeply loved by so many people.

Our lives aren’t perfect. They’re not always pretty. They don’t fit into a box – and they never will. Don’t hurt yourself trying to fold into a teenier, tinier version just to fit. You are who you are for a reason. Embrace it.

We are an amalgamation of endurance, resulting in the individual beauty of our existence.

May we all be bold enough, brave enough, and authentic enough to own our not-so-perfect pieces. To Summum Bonum.