The struggle

I don’t write regularly. I wish I had more discipline in this area… heck every area. But when it comes down to sleeping or writing, sleeping always wins. Is it fair to call myself a blogger if I barely do it anymore? I used to find it cathartic but realized that I pretty much just say the same things over and over anyways…

It’ll be 2019 soon, I think I’ve made about 5 posts this year. Life has been so busy. But I can’t say that I’ve been busy accomplishing things or knocking out goals. I’ve mostly been working and momming. I know that’s not the most exciting existence there is… but, it’s what I do.

BJ is TALL. He’s becoming a smidgen moody and he is still my more emotionally fragile of the two. It’s hard. I go back and forth between not wanting to make him soft and wanting to make sure that I give him the emotional nourishment he needs to ensure that he doesn’t have any self confidence issues. This year he is realizing that he is in a different place educationally. And it’s hard for him. And it is so hard for me to know he is struggling with his self esteem in that area. He is such a sponge. He’s in that precarious place where I want him to fly but know he’s not quite ready. I remind him that he’s almost 9 and that expectations increase with age, but I doubt myself constantly. With no one to bounce day to day life off of… the struggle is real.

B2 is the opposite. He generally operates from a place I’m comfortable with. He’s either angry or he’s happy. He’s hot and cold but I don’t worry or second guess what I’m doing with him. I know he’s confident, not shy and independent.

Balancing work, sports, education and all of the other intricacies that go along with parenting is tough. I feel like in BJ’s situation his struggles are because he needs the emotional support of a mom and the discipline and structure a father provides and no matter how hard I try I can’t give him everything. It gives me anxiety. He has “male interaction” during sports but that’s about it. No regular uncles, no active grand fathers, older male cousins, god fathers… nothing. And I read all of the articles that guarantee how fucked up your kid is going to be when raised in a single parent household. How my boys will never know how to properly love because they haven’t seen it in their home. Or how soft they’ll be and I cringe and say a prayer that they’ll beat the unfair odds so stacked against them. It’s not their fault. None of this is their fault. Yet here we are.

I pray over them every night. And then I worry. And I know that’s not the way it’s supposed to be. But how can I not worry when I know they’re set up to be statistics… I can fight what the world says their outcome will be. But, I’ll never stop worrying until I see the results of this labor of love. I pray they’re successful. Every night I ask God to help me raise them to be who He would have them to be. I pray God says it’s so. I feel like I’m failing at parenting right now because I can’t be who they need. And it is so freaking hard.

Long post… a little bit of rambling… but you get the point.




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