I often need to reassure myself that I can't regret the choice I made in him, even with all the pain, anxiety, unhappiness and loss. Because I was given Mia. My greatest gift. The reason it was all more than worth it. I do still beat myself up sometimes that I didn't choose a better father for her. Someone who would be there for her, who could show up and provide for her. Someone she could trust and count on. It destroys me inside to know how great a gift the relationship between a daughter and father can be - to have a dad who is always your first call, who you can fully confide in, who is your best friend - and recognize that she will likely never experience that bond. I feel guilty and regularly find myself overcompensating to play the roles of both mother and father. To give her two parents' worth of love, attention and devotion. Constantly aching to be... enough.
With all the one-on-one time we've had her entire life, I deeply mourn the time that we lost and can never get back. So many moments, hours, days of the first 3 years of her life that I wasn't always mentally present. I was physically there - going through the robotic routine to care for her, take her for walks, play stacking games or musical toys. I would jolt myself into the moment, recognizing I was missing it, knowing it would pass me by if I didn't wake up and take it all in. I would allow myself to sink into the familiar position for our sacred nursing routine, take in the precious features of her beautiful little face, soak up how her tiny fingers wrapped around mine, and feel my heart spilling over with love for her soft, innocent perfection. But as many times as I snapped myself into focus, I know I missed so much joy by not being truly present in all of those moments. So often I was pulled under by the darkness of depression that lurked in every orifice of my brain and body for so many years.
I've always resonated with the Maya Angelou quote: "People will forget what you said. People will forget what you did. But people will never forget how you made them feel." As the years go by, I do find that the details blur. What was once so critical has become small as the distance grows. All the nasty remarks, all the volatile scenarios. Luckily time allows those to fade. But the sadness that was so heavy, the fear and distrust that were paralyzing. Those familiar feelings are what I pray will pass one day, as well - for me and for Mia. I remember the confusion and disappointment I saw in her sweet face as he'd walk by without acknowledgement. I see her defense mechanisms in play now, when she knows a planned visit has once again been cancelled. I see her quietly unpack her activity bag she had carefully prepared for a potential excursion with her water bottle, coloring book and favorite baby doll... asking me for a minute alone. She's already learned to harden herself against his absence. Accept the likelihood of his broken promises. It breaks my heart into a thousand pieces to see my big-hearted baby have to learn such mature emotions so young and feel the need to stuff them down inside her. I aim to protect her from the disappointment, maintain her ignorance to the truth, shield her from harm in the wake of his predictable lack of accountability. But I see her making such mature observations and building a level of understanding from which I can no longer preserve her innocence. So I reinforce that I am here. That I will always be here. "It's you and me, baby, and we are happy."
What I have learned, and actively strive towards, is to relish in the joy provided by these simple, everyday moments that we are lucky enough to receive. Be present. Whether that is playing a game without distraction, breaking out into an impromptu dance party together, or feeling their little body relax and their breathing slow as they fall asleep on your lap. Be in that perfect moment. Look into those sweet eyes, listen to their silly stories, hear them - like really hear them laugh. Listen to the sound of that small voice say your name. "Mom."
Find peace knowing that to them, you are their entire world. You are their hero, their first love, their rock. You are absolutely enough.
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