Still feeling like I went skydiving without a parachute, I continued to apply for part-time jobs. Not knowing what our final custody agreement would be, it was difficult to provide a reliable schedule. Most mamas will likely agree that a law of averages means that each time you add a kiddo to the crew, the sickness frequency skyrockets exponentially. Moreover, time at the Family Center had very limited availability, so other scheduled events had to be shifted frequently.
If there was only an hour available, then it was preferred that the baby stay with me to make things easier for him. She & I tried to save the coffee shop days for the visits happening on rainy or painfully hot days, so as long as that southern heat could be managed with a fan my sweet girl & I enjoyed getting some steps in at a nearby park most days.
Given how many children need to be accommodated with visits, a tight schedule meant that any parent responsible for drop-off or pick-up was subject to fines down to the minute. Summertime where we live means a sometimes breathtaking number of tourists are on our major highways, and the drive home or to the family center coming from work or daycare could easily go from a 45-minute commute to 2 hours in the blink of an eye. The kids still think (even now) that every drive warrants a lil' snack, kicking off/tossing their shoes and maybe a movie & seem shocked when we reach our destination before said snacks are consumed. They were used to us trucking back & forth - meals, snacks, naps, meltdowns, giggles, blowouts, cleanups, songs, and yes, movies. That was my time to ask them about their day, navigate and translate their response, and try to make meaningful connections (but, like....how....?). Once we would get home, it was time for INSTANT dinner/ bath/ decompress/bedtime battles.
Knowing that I couldn't be available to/present at the studio as much as I both wanted and needed to was yet another moment of heartbreak. Pure Barre has always been my place of respite, and now not only was I not able to benefit from any respite for myself but also was adding additional work & stress to my team and not being present for our clients. Everything felt so imbalanced; this cannot be how it is "supposed" to be, right? How is this sustainable? It's not. Will it ever shift? How? It feels like Groundhog Day meets the Twilight Zone, but every day I wake up and have to remember that it's actually real life. MY real life. A life that has to change - this is not my kids' first chapter. It can't be - and once I can begin to be whole again, it won't be.
Default/single parenting while working full-time/business ownership is a club that absolutely deserves personalized jackets and a week on an island surrounded by blue water.
Miraculously, we were able to enjoy and focus on my middle's first recital. Afternoon rain showers are nearly a given this time of year, and I pray she will hold the memory of me doing her first dance recital makeup in the back of my car, staying dry under the back hatch. She was "just so 'cited" - my heart was so full. I danced from the time I was her age through high school, so her first dance recital was honestly something I dreamed of before I even met her father. The other two were total troopers with rehearsal and the performance. With the help of a good friend and my mother-in-law, we were all able to enjoy the recital. Friends who show up to support ALL of your kids - chatting with your son, videoing your tiny dancer's performance, and soothing the baby outside when she was over all of it...those selfless moments of love and support will never be forgotten. Having time to feel that you came close to being "enough" for each of your kids in a given day thanks to loved ones showing up and seamlessly helping you achieve this creates a healing that is absolute necessity. Some post-performance fro-yo & indoor picnic of chicken tenders made for a rare day in which I felt like we would be whole again. We made it out of the house, survived an "event" that involved specific attire, purchased & consumed food in a public setting (fro-yo), and didn't manage to ruin our dinner with said previously-mentioned food. Hails, yeah.
I continued looking for a new place to live. I was in the car at a minimum of four hours a day carting everyone back & forth, but by that time it was closer to 6+. Moving closer to the studio would mean a change in school for my oldest but not the girls, and the likelihood of finding a spot for his age close to the studio versus two daycare spots close to where we were currently living was night & day. Moreover, the next rental house that he got was again in the same neighborhood from the evicted house, which meant it literally connected to where I was living with the kids. I needed out. For a year, I thought he was in locations all over the country, wishing he was closer (geographically, physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually) when he was actually fifteen minutes away, and I was home battling PPD/PPA and praying daily for my marriage, for him, our kids. I was tired of driving past the church they went to together while I was home solo parenting & emotionally drowning. I spent a year begging someone to spend time with me, talk to me, hug me...so I thought it the problem was me. And now he could be that close as much as he wants when it's the last thing that would make me feel comfortable in my home? Hard pass.
A good friend from the studio who's a local realtor joined me to check out a few spots in the same neighborhood as the studio. It felt a lot like where I grew up - a more historic area, close to downtown, and beautiful, mature trees. People in the area love the neighborhood and take a lot of pride in maintaining their homes and the historic charm. They were great options, and I could picture it. The thought of helping my son with homework in the kitchen instead of shouting to the back row of the car because it meant we would be home before dark. I wouldn't have to race back to after school care, remaining thankful with each landmark that was free of a traffic jam. Playing with my kids after school would be a possibility; I felt like their drill sargeant lately just trying to keep things moving forward. Each house would have ultimately work but would have a minor inconvenience - never a deal-breaker, but adjustments that we would need to navigate. I love the authenticity & charm of historic homes and tried to stay patient that everything would pan out. I couldn't make a decision on anything until there were terms in place on our divorce - I had no way to budget or know if he would "approve" us moving. So I waited. And hoped. And prayed.
The kids & I continued to be prayed over, provided for, and loved deeply. The girls' daycare maintained my peace of mind and was beyond understanding with our circumstances. Many days what got me through was knowing how well they were loved, and the routine & consistency it gave to all of us in the midst of such upheaval is clear as the girls continue to thrive daily. God continued to show up when I was told my son's final remaining tuition payment had been covered by an anonymous donor. In all of the day to day uncertainty that remained, He continued to show up for us. I carried such a strange mix of anger, exhaustion, anxiety, and embarrassment. In my rational moments, I was good. I wasn't the one who engaged in the activities that got us here. I did nothing intentional to get the kids & me here. But then...there are also moments of weakness. Moments in which I allowed myself to feel less-than bubbled to the surface more often than I would like to admit, and they linger a year later undoubtedly. I suspect they may always hover nearby. How did I let us get here? How did I miss this? What does this say about me as a mom, a woman, an adult? What's happened sounds too insane to be true. How did I lose myself? What about the kids? Will they be ok? Can I make it ok? Do they feel safe? Do they know how much I love them?
As was becoming almost a pattern, God would drop a moment in which I felt seen, heard, and loved in the midst of my lowest and darkest mental & emotional depths. A good friend from my original Pure Barre days reached out to say she was cleaning out the closets for her two girls & wondered if I needed anything. We confirmed the sizes currently being worn, and within a matter of days, two giant boxes of clothes arrived at our door. My middle was over the moon, and she immediately went to work matching the sister sets, giggling and having a blast with so many opportunities to express herself (homegirl loves herself a runway moment). In that moment, she was happy & free - a visible reminder of the resilience we all possessed and lightness for which we remained hopeful.
The studio came through for me yet again when another client turned friend reached out with a newly listed rental. Close to the studio, the school I hoped for my son, not too far from the daycare (certainly closer than our current arrangement!), the right number of bedrooms AND bathrooms, fenced yard, and a front porch with a swing. I confirmed a time to come see it, and a small part of me exhaled. We might get there.
As one might expect immediately after confirming an appointment, the middle got sick. We had two days before I was supposed to see the house, so I rallied the popsicles, diffuser/ humidifier, lukewarm baths, extra snuggles and movies and got us to a healed/healthy point in time to make our appointment. I hope I never forget: the middle was feeling better, but in typical toddler fashion would only get in the car if she was wearing her ballet tights & leotard. We met the property manager, and I immediately felt at ease. Unloading my car always feels like a bit of a production, and I'm grateful if no one is in tears by the end of it. With an easy smile, she unlocked the house - & I knew. This is where we could start over. The hazy June afternoon light coming through the tall windows and the ways the floor creaked in certain spots...I could feel it. The high ceilings, the fireplaces, the details...the beautiful pride in workmanship of days gone by. Life was lived in these walls; love was shared, and storms were weathered. Walking into what would be the girls' room, I was transported back to childhood summer vacations to a family bay house. The steady, creaky rhythm of the ceiling fan in the midst of a humid summer afternoon was the soundtrack for many naps many years ago, and I hoped would be the same for my crew soon enough. The swing on the front porch clinched it - we needed to be here. We can breathe here. We can heal here.
After no fewer than four emergency support hearings without a ruling & deadlines quickly approaching, I reached out to him and asked for a phone call. The judge was known for granting 50/50 custody fairly generously, and I knew our children were too young for that. I am incredibly grateful for the kids' therapist at the time who was able to reassure me as to reasonable timelines for the children for a healthy adjustment. Obviously no one kid is the same as the other, and if additional measures are ever needed for any of my children's well-being they will be taken...but we were being held hostage at this point. I had no established support amount, so with the exception of a check for "my half" of the sale of a questionable vehicle, the children and I were literally surviving thanks to my family, church, and friends. Every move felt like a multi-edged sword. I need to be more present at the studio to gain more traction in growing our membership base and being present for the team, but I may need childcare depending on the hours...and what if someone is sick? I wasn't in a position to rely on any predictable income from the studio...every step forward felt like two (or twelve) steps back. We agreed to terms that we would send to our attorneys for review, and it meant that I could request a rental agreement for the house. I was far from out of the woods, but it was a step.
We celebrated the sweetest baby's first birthday at the sweetest friends' (& the baby's godmother's) home in good spirits. While I was sad for some aspects of the move, we all knew it was needed for progress. I remember finally feeling twinges of hope but not yet ready to trust them. A year never felt so short yet so excruciatingly long at the same time. I thought of my headspace a year ago at that time - scared for myself and our baby, confused as to why he was so unhappy in my presence, and completely unaware of everything that was about to come. Her birth, the nightmare that followed, the abandonment, the betrayal...there may never be enough words to truly express the hurt & pain & darkness. But in spite of it all, the encouragement, the love, the support, and the hope...the hope sustains us still as we wait for our full journey to be revealed. And for this hope, we are forever humbled.
l
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