How Much of an Asshole Am I Really?
Let me give you some backstory. I married my high school sweetheart and had my first daughter at 21. Like any young couple, we argued, but things took a darker turn when I was pregnant with my second child. That’s when the first physical fight happened. I felt trapped—no degree, a 3-and-a-half-year-old, and a baby on the way.
When my second daughter was born, he went on a boys’ trip to Mexico. That trip was the final straw. When he came back, we had one last explosive argument. I left before he could lay a finger on me or my kids.
During the divorce process, I found out he had another woman pregnant—so pregnant that his child and my youngest are only 11 months apart. After that, he stopped visiting, stopped paying child support, stopped calling. I moved on, but every now and then, I’d hear from him. He never wanted to talk to the kids. Then I found out he was doing hardcore drugs.
I’ll admit it—I became a helicopter mom. My first instinct was to protect my kids. I made excuses to keep him away because I was tired of my kids coming back smelling like an ashtray.
Now, my oldest has a relationship with her biological dad. She’s free to have whatever kind of relationship she wants with him. But I know I wasn’t always the best mom. The stress got to me, and I yelled more than I should have. I tried my best, though. I gave my kids everything—clothes, shoes, makeup, a car, cell phones, iPads, Nintendo. I realize now I was trying to buy their love.
This is just the beginning of my story. There’s so much more to tell, but that will have to wait for another day.