As a mom of five, soon to be six, finding time for myself feels almost impossible.
Sure, if I really wanted to, I could carve out space in my day. But then there’s the guilt—the relentless feeling of being away from my kids, missing moments, and, honestly, just hating the separation. It always stops me in my tracks.
Lately, I’ve found myself questioning everything: who I am, the state of my relationship, and the future I see ahead. When I think about the next 18 years of raising babies, the hard truth is that I don’t see him in that picture. And yeah, maybe I should’ve come to this realization sooner—before this latest little bean joined the story. But here we are.
That truth doesn’t change where I am right now.
I’m in the middle of a complicated, high-risk pregnancy, and I’m standing at a crossroads. What’s next?
Am I walking away? Am I asking him to leave?
As I sit by the river, a fishing pole in one hand and a joint in the other, one thing is crystal fucking clear: I’m done. I’m done trying to fix, change, or heal a man who doesn’t respect me. Don’t get me wrong—I know he loves me. But with a little clarity, I can see that his love isn’t healthy. It’s obsessive, toxic, and suffocating. And it’s just not for me anymore.
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