The Fear is Real

I'm scared. I'm afraid all the time. I never planned on doing this alone and I'm so terrified I will screw it up. Some days, I just want to give in and stop fighting, but if I do, it's not me who will suffer. How can one person be expected to do the job of two and still be good at it? Some days I think the terror will overwhelm me.

I get out of bed. I pour cereal. I comb hair and brush teeth, do dishes, make dinner, and try to remember to laugh. I try to remember that he doesn't understand all of this and still needs to be able to be a silly child. He still has to dawdle while getting ready for school and find one hundred other things to focus on instead of washing his hair in the bathtub. He shouldn't know about this huge weight I carry that often feels as if it's crushing me. That's not his problem.

I try not to dwell on the anger; the other person who was supposed to be here but isn't. I try to be grateful that he left me this precious life and the insanity is gone. I remind myself that as hard as this is, it was worse before. Before I got the strength to say' "Enough". That was a different kind of weight I carried, and it WAS crushing me. The weight I carry now strengthens me.

I can do this. I am not truly alone. There are people who love and support me through this and are willing to help if I can ask. From under this massive burden I carry daily, I need not be afraid to make my voice heard and speak up for myself and my son.

I have every reason to succeed and no room for failure. He's counting on me to do this right and I can't let him down. This fear I carry with me drives me forward and, hopefully, someday, I can find a way to leave it behind.