Forgive me if at times I appear a little brash. If, at times, I’m short, impatient, or perhaps cold and distant.
It’s not your fault, I know that. None of this is your fault. It’s just sometimes, lingering resentment and tension get the best of me. And there’s a small part of me that thinks how much easier it would be just to hate you, snigger behind your back, play the role of the nasty ex-wife who can’t stand to be in the room with their ex and his new girlfriend.
But that’s the easy way out. That’s weakness. That’s refusing to admit this whole situation makes my stomach churn. That’s no good for anyone, especially not my son. I want to show him through my example that when you’re faced with two choices, selecting compassion and love over hatred and anger is always the right path to take.
I’d like to borrow just a few minutes of your time to try and explain how it feels to be me. Not as a means to illicit any sympathy, but perhaps with some understanding on both parts, we can begin to try and understand one another, and work together, in a bid to reach some kind of civility.
You see, the future you’re blissfully piecing together with my son’s father isn’t too dissimilar to the one I had in my head once upon a time too. That’s why, occasionally, it’ll be hard to see you stand in the place I once stood. Don’t take it personally. It’s not you. It’s me. I’m not sure when it will get easier to watch you step into my shoes every second weekend. You were never supposed to exist. When I envisioned my perfect little family, you weren’t in the picture. There was never consideration another woman will one day be there to help raise my son.
From the day my ex and I broke up, I dreaded your presence. I knew you were coming. I just didn’t know when. It was too hard to simultaneously deal with a broken heart and the fact I would have to share my son with someone else, so I relegated you to the back of my mind and told myself I’d deal with it another day. And now, that day is here. It’s not any easier than I thought it would be.