Helping and Helped

I hate asking for help.

I hate it. Blame it on my perfectionism or my pride, but help is my least favourite thing to ask anyone for. I can fundraise for any cause, and I dole out help to others before helping myself a lot of the time. When I'm offered help, I often decline. I realized how stubborn I was not so long ago when, on a date, I dropped my sweater and refused to let my date pick it up. He called me out on it and he was right. In everything from picking up sweaters to getting ahead on my work load, asking for help is the last thing I do so you can imagine how hard it was for me to ask for help paying for F's daycare.

The facts to me look a little different than the facts look to others, and while there was a time I would have been offended (and honestly, it wasn't very long ago) by someone suggesting I seek help in covering my costs as a single parent. I look at my life as this: I have a job that pays pretty well, given my entry-level status and the state of our economy. I have a roof over my head and food in my fridge and a family who would (and have) do anything for F and I. I have a deadbeat ex who doesn't pay support, and while it would make my life eons easier I do OK.

Until I realized that I wasn't doing as OK was I thought. And that's when I did it. I asked for help.

Within a week, I went from losing sleep and being unable to eat (AKA Mom Stress Diet - it's very effective) to having a huge weight lifted off my chest. And guess what? I'm glad I asked for help. I'm glad that we have a program in our (horribly, horribly flawed) system that gives families a chance to make a better life for themselves. I'm glad that, after referring tons of people to these programs and services, I can have a little bit of the help I want to see others get.

Accepting help doesn't make me a failure, it just means that I'm human. Asking for help doesn't mean I'm weak, but that I'm brave enough to do it, that I'm willing to do what it takes to give my child the future that he deserves and that I so want for him. For me. For both of us. I help people every day. It's my job, it's my passion and I love it. But I realized something really important.

I can't take care of others if I don't take care of myself.

I can't help others if I don't help myself.

Where ever you are on your path today, whatever obstacles you face, know that there are programs and services that can help you. If you're in the Maritimes, you can contact me directly and I can actually help you get help. If you're in Nova Scotia, you can contact 211 Nova Scotia to be hooked up with the community and social services nearest you.

There is help. There are people who want to help.

Four Letter Words

I have a terrible potty mouth.

Anyone who knows me at all can attest to this. I do my best to keep it under wraps as well as I can, but every now and again I let a handful of four-letter words fly. In my house, there are a number of other "four-letter words" - the bad ones, the ones I don't like to hear. Monday, for example, is a four letter word. My toddler might tell you that bedtime and toothbrush also fall into this category, though we aren't quite seeing eye-to-eye on that.

Dad is also on my list of four-letter words.

Last week, I was filling out the registration forms for F's new daycare teacher and chatting with her about his favourite foods, his routine and his personality (I probably should have prepared a book). After signing my name for the umpteenth time, I scanned through all of the paperwork again to make sure I hadn't missed anything. "It's all there, we'll see you on Monday!" I said as I handed her the booklet. She asked me to wait until she signed it, and told me she had something else to send with me. She flipped through the pages and then stopped, looked at me and told me I "must have forgotten" to fill out the Father's Information.

So I told her about my list of four-letter words. I don't think she liked it much.

For all intents and purposes, in spite of a pretty diamond ring and a fancy wedding ceremony, I have always been a single mom. F's dad was never totally involved, though I can give some credit for the times he made an effort (which is wasted on the almost year that's gone by since he last saw his own child). It might not have been my dream, certainly raising a child alone wasn't the future I had envisioned for myself but I own it and I love it and we do just fine, F and I. But I definitely don't forget about the Father's Information on anything.

I don't forget about the fact that F's dad has nothing to do with us. I don't forget that I pay every bill, every childcare hour and every last expense from socks to car payments without a single penny in child support. I don't forget about the awful hurt that I feel when another kid asks F why his Daddy doesn't pick him up.

And F won't ever forget that he had a Mom who did it because she loved him that much.

Deadbeat

Sometimes I happen across an image that makes me laugh. Or furious. Or both.

 

This image just so happens to be one of them. The minute I saw it, I saw J in my mind's eye holding up his new phone and talking about how fantastic it was. Anyone who knows him knows exactly what I'm talking about. J went through phones the way that most people go through socks. One year, he had five phones. Five. 5. That's almost one every two months. Meanwhile, we could barely afford the rent at our apartment. I should have clued in sooner, right? (Don't answer that)

After everything else has been said and done, the only thing that really bothers me is that J still doesn't support F - or make any effort to be in his life. That's beyond my realm of comprehension, because F is the best thing in my life by far.

 



I remember the day F was born so vividly I can almost feel the contractions to this day. At (barely) 22, I was just a kid myself – a first timer, terrified of what lay ahead. Labour was frightening enough, but to raise a child is a horse of another colour. I remember feeling such a sense of relief at J holding my hand in the delivery room, promising me that I was doing just fine. I can still see my mom’s eyes – filled with tears – as she told me how beautiful her new grandson was. J and I barely slept that first night in the hospital as we watched our newborn sleeping quietly, fighting back the urge to hold our son in our arms all night. We talked about all we would do as new parents and our future together, as a family.

That was over three years ago, and as it stands right now, J hasn’t seen our son since before New Year’s 2013.

Nobody tells you how hard parenting is – and if they do, they never manage to include the part that your heart will never belong to you again. When F is sad, I’m sad and his laughter ignites my own. I never imagined that I would be in the position I’m in today – the good, the bad and the hilarious. Sometimes, it’s all I can do to NOT pinch myself when it occurs to me that I’m living what I believed would be my biggest nightmare and that, in spite of all the hurt, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

Except for the part where my son’s Dad turned into a deadbeat.

You see, I’m a big girl. I’m not perfect. I’ve done things that I shouldn’t have done, some things I’m not always proud of. I’ve said bad words, hurtful words and I’ve told a few lies over the years. I can pick up the pieces when I need to, let things roll off my back and I can truck on. I don’t necessarily think that I’ve done anything to deserve some of the things that J put me through, but I’m old enough to deal with it. F hasn’t done anything to anyone. He deserves all of the love and care in the world, especially from his own father.

There is nothing that J could ever do that would possibly hurt more than neglecting our little boy. Every week that passes where I don’t hear from him, every month that he “forgets” to send child support, every weekend F spends here in the city – a five minute drive from J – that we don’t get a text breaks my heart a little more.

I’m luckier than most in that I have the greatest support system anyone could ever hope for. My mother and father have bent over backwards to help me get back on my own two feet – steadying my wobbly legs and whispering words of encouragement as I go. F is blessed to have loving grandparents who would do anything for him, and I’m proud to say that I have friends who keep a smile on my face when I can’t be with my little boy. Even with all of that, the hurt remains... all because of one, simple truth:

J had every opportunity to be a great Dad, and he pissed every one of them away because having fun was more important than having his family.

Nothing hurts your Mommy heart more than watching the father of your child turn his back on them. Regardless of the state of your own relationship, the feelings you harbour towards him, the history you share or the future you're facing, every time he lets your child down he's really letting you down... because when you're a real parent your child is an extension of you - not just someone you see when it's easy or convenient.

And for the record, F is way cooler than the iPhone 5.