I'm going to dive right in.
If you want an #Introduction post – check my Mastodon account of @[email protected].
I only, just now, writing this, realized I could pin my #Introduction post to my Mastodon account, so... I've taken care of that. Enjoy it.
Instead, I need to just... spend a minute being, frankly, vulnerable.
I've had my kids here the past week.
It's been amazing.
Now, I'm going to confess. I'm always a little trepidatious about having my kids. I'm not, honestly, sure why. Some mixture of baggage from the ex, imposter syndrome, and a weird feeling like I have to “entertain” my kids when they're here – when all they really need is shelter, food, and occasional help with homework.
Something about this week with them has hit different. Maybe its the upping of my #adhd meds. Maybe it's just been the quality of the time spent. Perhaps it's the deep talks we've been having about the issues they are facing.
Whatever it's been – the week with them has hit hard.
And it doesn't appear to be just me that feels it. Tonight, I dropped the girls off at their Mother's place. Oldest turned 14 this week, and Ex had a birthday party for her.
But... Oldest has social anxiety issues. She doesn't like crowds. She prefers having a few close friends, and doesn't enjoy being the center of attention.
So, Ex had all of her fiancees' family over. 30-ish people. Luckily, most of them could, I think, sense her mood as she sat on the farthest corner of the couch next to her best friend, hiding in her phone. Largely, they left her be.
I suspect some of them will have been miffed at her ignoring them – but... too damn bad. It's (allegedly) her party – she can, in my opinion, behave how she likes.
Anyhow, as it came to be time for me to go... Oldest ... just /clung/ to me. With a desperation I was completely ill equipped to deal with. A couple tears rolling down her cheek at the prospect of being at Mom's house (and under Mom's thumb) for a week.
I'm ... shook.
Now, in fairness – I'm tired (haven't slept right the last couple days), I've been doing well (too well?) on my diet, and I donated blood this morning. So... I'm not exactly a stoic mountain today.
But... I very nearly pulled Ex aside at that to just tell her “Oldest is coming home with me for a few more days. Deal with it.”
I didn't. I'm not sure if that means I'm a coward – or if I'm just sticking to the plans as I've been working it, and as has been endorsed by my therapist.
All the same.... fuck.
I feel like I've ... betrayed my Oldest? Betrayed isn't quite right. Abandoned her to her personal Hell might be a better fit.
This is all a very... surreal experience for me.
Ex and I didn't have a messy divorce. Partly (mostly?) because I just... didn't fight. For anything. I was just happy to be done.
We've remained cordial now that we're divorced. We don't always see eye to eye – but we've not had any fights. She HAS called me a couple times upset about this thing or that thing, but I've found my footing. I let her vent/rant, I get her to stop and hear my reasoned reply, and those two issues have, largely, been put to bed as a result. They haven't recurred.
She's always insisted on having the kids, and I've never battled that. I never even considered that it was a bad idea. She's always wanted to be a Mom. She's a teacher – a special ed teacher at that.
On paper, she's well suited to, y'know, care for our kids mental/emotional well-being.
But... no.
I just... it never occurred to me that I'd be someone facing discussions about my Ex mistreating our kids. Or about custody arrangements needing to change (at least temporarily).
And while I'm 100% moving forward in having that conversation (which includes giving the girls time to prepare things they also want to say to her, with me present to defend them and/or mediate the table discussion)... and while I know, logically that I'm doing the right thing right now...
... emotionally I'm just... spent right now. I feel like I'm doing it all wrong now that we're this close. I feel like I should just... push us all across that finish line. Rip off the bandage. I wanna lash out and just DO.
Oldest needs therapy. She needs respect. She needs privacy, and time, and space.
Youngest doesn't have it as bad – but even SHE is literally asking for Mental Healthcare. A professional to talk to about life – and someone to talk to about her suspected ADHD.
I just have to keep reminding myself that... I'm doing all the things.
I've checked legal resources. I've strategized with my therapist. I've got my kids talking to the counselor at their school. I'm keeping notes on all the things I'm learning, and events as they keep happening. I've even prepared a few . . . bombshells.
Truly, sincerely, I really hope I don't have to use any of them. I'm nice – to the point of being a pushover. Especially with my Ex. It's just ... easier to accede to her wants most of the time.
But ... if she either refuses to accept the cries for help we're about to make together – or if she keeps her head buried in the sand of “I don't think...” and “I don't feel...” or “I don't want...”
... well.
I don't give much of a fuck what she wants/feels/thinks. I care about what our KIDS need.
And I'm armed for bear.
So... she can go all Mama Bear if she feels the need. Bear Traps are prepared. Hopefully, they can stay hung safely in the proverbial shed.
But ... they're there if I need them.
Fuck.
I need a drink. And a hug.