Broken, not bent

…But most times it doesn’t last.

No matter how hard you try or how much it bends, before the relationship breaks.

Being a new single mother had been scary. I felt so alone. Like I had so much baggage and who the hell wants that? I was going to be alone forever. Strangely I never cared about being alone before, why did I suddenly care now? Baby brain? Insecurity? Lost the plot? Yes, yes and probably yes.

So this felt like a fresh start, a new chance at a once retired relationship. I had a lot to get over from the past and still not 100% sure why I put myself through it all, but I did. Mentally, it’s the hardest thing I have ever had to do (even worse than labour) and I won’t do it again. I guess when you truly think that a person is meant for you, you go the extra mile for them, which is beautiful. But theres a difference between going the extra mile and driving yourself straight off of a cliff.

Therapy seemed like the only resort. Why though, is it that the woman is always to blame? “You need to take responsibility for part of the cheating and lying because you knew he had a bad reputation yet you still got together with him.” Yes, you’re right its definitely my fault. A few weeks later I thought back to that comment and how the therapist made me feel that day. And how absolutely wrong she was for doing that. Then I felt livid that I paid her so much of my hard earned money to just make me feel worse about myself. I am never, EVER going back to therapy. Or at least not to her. It’s kind of like when people ask about what happened with Bullseye and then say “Oh gosh poor fella it was too much for him”…and I’m like :O POOR HIM? The world has gone absolutely mad. Men get away with too much.

Now I’m no neuroscientist but I’ve looked this up before in the moments of shock when I’ve been baffled at the extent some fibs can reach – there is a part of your brain called the amygdala, which is a region associated with emotions. Apparently, when someone tells a lie their amygdala shows activity, suggesting that they feel some sort of guilt. But as time passes and more lies are told, the amygdala shows less and less activity suggesting that the person feels less guilty and ultimately the person becomes more and more dishonest. Especially if they are personally benefitting from whatever lies they decide to tell.

That’s what happens to the liar. But when someone lies to you, at first you accept it as a true statement… then you process it more and decide whether you believe it or not. As sad as it sounds, if you hear the lie often enough it starts to sound true even when you  know better. Your brain feels like a battlefield, because you can become convinced that you are “crazy.” You become insecure, confused, unhappy. You wonder, am I making this up? After a while your brain becomes so exhausted from the mental confusion of being lied to that it can’t take anymore and your brain gives up. You unknowingly accept the lies as the truth.

Just as the Thai elephants lose their spirits to the Phajaan, your spirit is broken. Until one day you have an epiphany and realize your worth. Usually triggered by a particularly unpleasant event.

You know that saying “If you love someone let them go”…it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. If you love yourself, let them go. Because life is too short to fight up or force things to work. If someone cannot give you what you want, be kind to yourself and recognize that it’s simply just… time to go.

And just like that Charlie, Skye and I were a trio again and I felt a new sense of self and womanly independence who don’t-need-no-man-for-nothing. Even at 6 am when I’m trying to weewee and read my myriad of texts from my beloved clients about their beloved pets, Skye is crying to go outside and Charlie picks up the garbage bin and bangs it on my shin then drops it on my toe. Then pulls his pamper off to put it into the bin, and pees on the floor. Then steps in it and leaves peeprints everywhere. Ah yes, my sweet sweet trio.

We even go for runs as a trio. Thankfully though I usually have help now and no longer get drivers passing by shouting “All you missing is de man!” Again, the commenters are here to stay. My mum helps a lot, thank God. Typically, the pram contains:

  • Water and poop bags for Skye
  • Water for Charlie, extra water for Charlie, milk, Apple Jacks, spare pamper, some sort of distracting toy
  • Water for mum and I
  • Phones and keys
  • Everyone else’s phone, water and keys, who come on the run 🙂

Overall, Charlie included, the loaded pram weighs no less than 60 pounds, swear to God. My arms sometimes feel like they might fall of and sometimes I imagine that I look like hulk from behind which freaks me out and I wonder if I should discontinue the running. But my mind needs it, so hulk I shall be. Skye runs to poop and you have to stop and pick it up so that the dog haters don’t have reason to cuss you and also because imagine how gross it would be if you didn’t. Somewhere along the line Charlie stops to feed people Apple Jacks and have a drink then he throws his bottle onto the ground, it gets caught in the wheel and I almost trip but don’t actually thank God – I already look like a hot mess imagine if I also tripped? Pheuf. Then mum takes over for a turn and I breathe a sigh of relief in remembrance of how easy running is when you don’t have a bandwagon attached to you. Then I feel like it’s too easy and ask for the pram back please. It’s a vicious cycle, this motherhood business.

One second you just want them to go to sleep. Then they go to sleep and you love them extra because they look so cute and innocent and they are so quiet. You wonder for a flashing moment if you should go and kiss those lucious cheeks but then you feel dread as you realize that there is a risk of waking them up so you quickly run away after blowing a kiss as silently as possible. Do not wake the beast. Then they wake up screaming (most times) and you just want a vacation. Then you go on vacation without them for a week and you go to a bar, excited to have no responsibilities for 5 seconds and your friend shows you a picture of your son from someone at home. And instead of being the fun, drunk-and-disorderly-twenty-something-year-old that you thought you still were, you feel a lump in your throat and need to go home because the tears are coming because you miss the little terror so much. Vicious. Cycle.

Below. This is why you silently blow kisses at night and then run like the wind, out the bedroom door. Love him.

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“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go…”
Dr. Seuss, Oh, The Places You’ll Go!

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