I feel too deeply. I’ll pretend..you’ll see the tough face and I’ll even laugh it off..but in those moments alone… I sometimes want to put on boxing gloves and fight my demons physically rather than think about it.. The guilt of bringing my son with me into a failed relationship..the memories and the knowledge that I should have ended that long before I did.
It’s hard to know my son has suffered at my hand..that my example has not been what it should and that his perception of how to treat women is skewed even in the slightest by my failure when I needed to be strong.
I sometimes stare at myself in the mirror because I’ve never met a more critical gaze than my own. If looks could kill. I’ve been wrong more than I’ve been right…and I’ve had more failures than wins.
But I’m not quitting. There will come a day…and a man who gets me and between now and then I’ll look and someday I hope that my boy will appreciate my candor with him about my failures. If he can’t learn from my successes..there are plenty of failures he can set his path to miss…