My son is 17 years old. He lives with my mom. My mom and my uncle have been his guardians for about 6-7 years now. I wasn't always the perfect mother when I lived with my mom and my son, or even when I moved to the projects with my son. I have multiple mild physical disabilities(including partial blindness), and mental health diagnoses. I have felt like I got a bad rap from the beginning, like what it says on paper is what determines others' perception(s) of who and what I am. So I tried very hard to overcome all the stigma. I admit I wasn't always there for my son. I made all kinds of excuses. I've been self-centered. I suppose I could have, or should have, tried harder to put more attention on my son. I screamed many years for support, but all I got was, "if you can't handle being a parent, we'll take him from you," not "what can we do to help you with your struggles, so that you can be a better mom?" This system is screwed up. I don't have much against grandparents' rights, but some just go too far. Like, my mom has more money than I do, therefore he deserves to live in her environment of privilege, than my environment of poverty. In that case, all persons of child-bearing age, who do not meet income standards, should be sterilized. Or they should be trafficked for their fertility, to bear children for money-hungry yuppies, who only realize they want to be parents once menopause hits. That's what pisses me off about the "Pro Life" movement. The babies they want to adopt would probably end up in day care anyway, while they continue their 80 hour-a-week work load. Does The Handmaid's Tale ring a bell?
Ok, so I went off on a wild tangent. Those who know me IRL would not be surprised. Sometimes I wonder...if I tried harder, would I have my son with me? I stopped trying a few years ago, because I will never be good enough. Even if I could buy him everything he wanted, I would not. Whatever happened to just giving kids the basics of unconditional love, shelter, food, and clothing? I guess my son learned his violent tendencies and short temper from me and other family members. Or is it an innate characteristic? In any case, that was the major reason I came to the conclusion of not trying to get more visitation rights, or even regain custody. Am I selfish for deciding what I have is more important that what I thought I wanted?
A year after I lost custody of my son, I found a community of peers who had mental health and other struggles, just like me, though it seemed to me that most were not parents. I even met my husband there, and through him, I connected with other community programs. My self-esteem began to grow, and I accomplished many goals never thought I could. I felt so trapped living with my mom for 8 years. Back then, I never knew of any programs that could help with my mental and physical health needs. I know a few women who have been in similar situations, and some of them seem to be stuck in the same position I was in 6-7 years ago, while others continue on their own path, such as I am now. I continue to grow. I have a very small business of selling crafty things. I advocate for others that are going through what I have.
So that begs the question: am I being selfish? I want to be with my son, but if he doesn't accept me the way I am, or if he ignores me when I try to visit or keep in contact with him, I am no longer going to let that bring me down. For the last 6 years or so, I have heard "maybe he'll want a relationship with you when he grows up". Do they know how stupid that sounds? If crack heads can turn their lives around and regain custody of their kids, then why couldn't I? I'm not saying that my son is not important to me, but there is still a limit to how much stress I will let him put me through. The two manipulators can have each other, and I hope they are happy together. My husband I do not, and will not, have any kids together. That makes me sad, but I'd rather be with him, than have another baby again and risk going through another round of drama brought on by my mom's lack of faith in my ability to take care of a precious bundle of joy; aka living, breathing, poop machine.
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