Leaving my boys with their father was the hardest thing I’d ever do in my life.
I’ve always been a really hands on mother. I chose to stay home instead of returning to work, ran the local playgroup for years and genuinely loved spending time with my kids.
Watching my sons morph into young men before my eyes was an irreplaceable experience, but it was clouded by judgement from friends that I was being overprotective for failing to let them out of my sight.
In my eyes though, it seemed my friends were being dramatic. After all, my boys played sports, had friends over all the time, went to sleep-overs and camps; it wasn’t exactly like I had them under lock and key.
That changed when their stepfather and I decided to move interstate. We gave our kids the option to either stay with their father in their home town, or cross the state line with my partner and I. They opted for the former, but it wasn’t because they wanted to get rid of me. Remarkably, at the tender age of 14 and 17, my boys knew leaving my home town was something I’d always wanted to do. However taking them away from their father was never an option, so I’d sacrificed my dream while they were young, staying put until they were old enough to decide where they wanted to be.
We sat down as a family to discuss what the move would look like in reality and it was decided my partner and I would leave and my sons would stay with their father. Yet several weeks later as we drove our loaded van toward our new home, reality hit.
My tears started flowing as the reality sunk in that leaving my boys with their father was the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life, and knowing I’d left them in capable hands was no consolation.
The first year was the hardest, not only for me, but for all of us, and I packed up my things and started driving back to my boys more than once. The pain of not having my children around was unbearable and despite being surrounded by family, I’d lost my purpose and reason to get up in the morning. For so long I’d been a mother, and without daily contact I really wasn’t sure who I was anymore.
During the second year, I had an epiphany. I began to understand what my friends had meant about my overprotectiveness. I’d gotten so used to doing absolutely everything for my children, that it was only after a year of seeing them in a different living environment that I could see I’d been holding on too tight.
Life with their father was different. He didn’t chase after them like I always had. He made them catch public transport, cook their own meals and do their own washing. They became more independent and self-confident in their own abilities, and I watched in amazement as their father continued living his life in much the same fashion as he always had, despite having our kids under his roof.