It's been a week since I've blogged. It was a long week. I spent most of it studying for the NCLEX, and thankfully, passing it. I may have been born with a self-care deficit, but I have been blessed with a functioning brain. There's always that.
I've been thinking a lot this week about my life. When exactly did I go from taking care of myself (physically and emotionally) to NOT taking care of myself....and really not caring? I've touched on the "loss factor" and do think there is something there. At some point in my life though I passed through that feeling of loss and found myself on track, feeling good, well-balanced, and in control of myself, what I put in my mouth, how much I drank, how often I exercised. It was going good. For a long time. I surrounded myself with people who were supportive and happy, people who value their physical beings, who participate in group sports, who challenge themselves to compete in races and marathons, who travel and scuba dive and help others to learn to do it too. I lived in a bikini on a boat for fuck's sake. Where did it all turn sour?
I keep revisiting my past relationship. With my son's father. It was a great beginning, but turned sour after I became pregnant. I was weak. I wanted to believe the best, not believe the worst. The late night phone calls, the lock on his phone, the texts from all sorts of women who were just "friends", and after giving birth to his son, the lies, the affair, the lies, lies, and more lies. What the hell was wrong with me? Anyone I talk to about this; "oh, you just wanted to believe, don't beat yourself up about this, it happened, don't make the mistake again....." Yadee, yadee, ya. I was overweight when I got pregnant but certainly not from feeling bad about myself. It was more from happily going out to eat, drinking, and late night pig-out sessions. At my 6 week checkup I was 42 pounds minus my pregnancy weight- 25 pounds lighter than when I became pregnant. Because of my son, I took care of the body that was housing him. I was happy. I was a mother. IF I left his dad then, I honestly believe I would never have gained that final 32 pounds. How often did I know deep in my heart that I was lied to and cheated on, and still stuck by his side? How awful did that make me feel about the person I was? How did it reaffirm that I wasn't worthy of his love and support, nor even worthy of the TRUTH? What was wrong with me that I stayed all that time? I still bounce back and forth with thinking we should be together for our son's sake. How ridiculous. I'm angry at myself. I'm angry at that sorrowful person I was for so long. I'm angry at the spiteful and hurtful person I turned into. I'm pissed that I was a weakling, nothing more than a wimp, blindly standing by being lied to and used, wanting nothing more than for him to come back to us, for us to be a family. A scorned woman believing all the stupid bullshit lies. I'm sorry things didn't work out for us, sorry my son has to visit with his dad instead of having a loving father come home to him after his day's work, to tuck him in his bed every night. I'm sorry his father turned out to be such a scumbag, who lied and cheated and robbed from me my self dignity, and stole from all three of us any possibility of ever being a family; living together, loving together, being together through thick and thin. I've lost hope and have lost myself. In so many ways.
This blog hurts to write. Each day I wake and do my best to be the best parent I can be. There's not much more to it for me. It gives me joy. The rest is work. Every day. It makes losing weight difficult. I'll fight it. I'll win. For me.