by Rachel Hadiashar
my 10 year relationship with my son’s father ended.
I cried oceans.
I prayed for him.
I gotta pray for me as well.
I didn't want to
stop loving him.
So hard to let go.
We'd been family.
He was my best friend.
Father of my son.
But, it wasn't a perfect relationship that suddenly went wrong.
Are they ever?
Never had been an easy road for us.
Many days we met up in the boxing ring.
Ready to duke it out.
Both of us trying to find the love we were missing.
But we used our weaknesses not our strengths.
And my weaknesses fit together perfectly with his.
Then the bomb of us would go off.
I would forget about it.
Unless I wrote it down.
Or told a friend.
Then I'd have to remember.
Even then, I'd take out my rose colored glasses.
It could be different this time.
Writing about this is like falling into a black hole.
Don't want to lose myself in the chaos.
There was so much I over-looked.
Dysfunction takes 2.
I am not blaming myself.
Nor I am going to disempower myself.
I had the choice to leave.
I tried many times.
But I'd always go back.
I played my role.
My part of the equation.
Enable. Control. Enable. Control.
It was a coping mechanism I mastered when I was young.
I knew it well.
Childhood trauma is it's own beast.
Helplessness & vulnerability, yes.
Not so much for us survivors.
Children are innocent.
But childhood trauma leaves it's mark.
Takes it's toll on that growing brain of ours.
Early wiring for dysfunction.
Survivors often recreate the emotional realities we know from our early life experiences.
We did that together, me & him.
Intellectually, I know this happened.
But the intellect doesn't help with the healing.
I could've left him a long time ago.
Instead he left me.
In a lot of debt.
With a history of family violence that was crazy-making.
For another woman he married 6 months after I made him leave.
That final betrayal is just a distraction to the root of the problem.
Still hurts though.
Maybe the most.
I feel bad writing this.
Speaking some unspeakable.
He has his.
I did the best I could.
So did he.
And all I can do now is accept.
Accept that I swept things under the rug.
Just as I had to do as a child.
Accept that I recreated trauma and dysfunction in my adult life.
Repercussions on the innocent.
I learned better.
The hard way.
Photos by Amber Boydston
Hi friends, I write from the heart to tell my life story, and the story of those in my neighborhood called life. Research shows that our children's emotional & mental health is contingent upon us parents being able to tell our life story, or "coherent narrative." This is my coherent narrative, my life story in the making, with some of what I love in life too. My goal is to share my life in a way that is real, uplifting & positive- sometimes serious, sometimes fun. In my practice, I inspire parents to empowerment through reclaiming our life stories and learning respectful discipline. My work is my offering to our children- our future. Wishing you all a happy family!