Well, it’s been a while… so let’s catch up.
Life, right now, feels like a whirlwind I can barely hold on to. I'm in the thick of a divorce, raising my son, working full-time, and carrying what feels like the weight of the world on my shoulders. I’m back on medication, fighting every day to stay afloat—and in the middle of all of this, I’ve somehow fallen in love. It’s surreal, really. In the midst of all the mess and brokenness, there’s love.
But here’s the honest truth: I’m barely holding it together.
From the outside, I know I look strong. People see me balancing everything, and maybe I make it look easy. But no one sees what happens behind closed doors. No one sees the nights when my son is finally asleep, and I’m alone with my thoughts. That’s when the tears come, the doubts flood in, and I feel like I’m drowning. I cry because no matter how hard I try, no matter how fiercely I fight for him, I feel like I’m failing my son. The pressure of motherhood is crushing, and I feel unworthy of the role.
Truthfully, I don’t even know how to be a mom sometimes. I thought it would come naturally, that somehow I would just know what to do. But it doesn’t feel like that. Most days, I’m just guessing. Are all moms like this? Are we all just winging it? I feel like I should have it all figured out, and yet, I’m lost. I feel like I’m failing in every direction, and the weight of it is suffocating.
One of the hardest things about this divorce is knowing that I am now fully responsible for my son. If he struggles, if something goes wrong, every finger will point at me. If he fails, it’s on me. There’s no one else to share the blame, no one to share the weight of it all. And that terrifies me. I don’t want to be the reason he hurts. I don’t want to fail him.
And yet, I made the choice to leave my marriage, because staying in something without love wasn’t right for either of us. Even though my ex-husband and I are better off as co-parents, I constantly wonder if my son will blame me for it one day. Will he see me as the one who broke our family apart? Will I hate myself for it?
On top of everything, there’s Corey. He came into my life when I least expected it, and neither of us was prepared for what this would turn into. I’ve learned so much from my marriage—mostly about how I want to be treated and what I deserve. I know now that I can’t compromise on certain things. I refuse to put myself and my son back in the position we just left. I need a partner who understands me, someone who knows that I don’t need a father for my son—he already has an amazing father. What I need is someone who’s there for me.
But this is where the fear creeps in. I know what I need, but I’m terrified it’s asking for too much.
I’m not looking for grand gestures or fairy-tale romance—I just need someone who can hold me when I feel like crumbling. Someone who will look at me when I’m overwhelmed, when I’m lost in the maze of motherhood and divorce, and tell me it’s going to be okay. I need someone who will be my backbone when I can’t stand anymore, someone who will lift me up instead of break me down.
The truth is, for the first time in my life, I feel completely and utterly alone. Even with love in my life, even with Corey, I’m still battling this deep loneliness that I can’t seem to shake. I don’t want to do life alone. I want a partner who will stand by me, who won’t shy away from the chaos I bring, but who will embrace it and help me through it.
But I keep coming back to this haunting question: Can I really be loved when I hate myself?
I hate so much about myself right now—the way I look, the way I think. My mind is a constant storm of fear and doubt, and I’m angry. Angry at the world, angry at myself for not being enough. Most days, I feel like I’m just holding myself together with duct tape, trying to appear whole when inside I’m breaking.
How could anyone, even Corey, love someone who’s so messy, so broken?
I’ve built walls around myself over the years, and love—real, vulnerable love—feels impossible. I know it’s there between us, but I keep wondering: Is love enough? Can love survive when I’m terrified of letting anyone in, when I’m afraid to ask for what I need because I don’t want to be too much? Can someone like me—someone who feels so deeply flawed—really be loved?
And yet, here I am, still fighting. Still showing up for my son, still trying to make sense of this messy, beautiful life. There’s beauty in the chaos, I’ve realized. There’s beauty in the fact that even when I feel like I’m failing, I get up every day and try again. There’s beauty in the love I’ve found with Corey, even though it’s complicated, even though we’re both figuring it out. There’s beauty in the way I’m learning, slowly but surely, that I am worthy of love—no matter how broken I feel.
I don’t have it all figured out. But I’m here, still fighting, still believing that love and hope are possible—even when I feel like I don’t deserve it.
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