A Good Day, Mostly
Today—December 17, 2025—felt like a good day.
Not perfect. Not easy. But steady. Familiar. Real.
I started my morning the way I usually do: picking up Zion and Joey, taking them along with Isabella to school. Nothing extraordinary—just showing up and doing what parents do without recognition.
After that, I picked up Eve and brought her back to my place. That decision alone triggered criticism from my mother, who accused me of being irresponsible because Jaden and Brandon hadn't left for school yet. What she didn't see—or refused to see—was that I knew exactly what I was doing. I made it home in time. The kids were ready. Clean clothes. Meds taken. Teeth brushed. Out the door on time.
I wasn't guessing.
I was managing.
Rest Isn't Laziness
Eve came over for a reason that might sound odd to some people—we needed rest. We're both exhausted parents carrying more than we let on, and sometimes the most healing thing isn't productivity, but closeness. Quiet. Cuddling. Breathing.
While she slept, I cleaned. I always clean. Not because I'm told to, and not because I'm praised for it, but because I care about my space and the people in it.
Later, I went to her house to help her clean—not because she can't, but because I want to. Because partnership, to me, means contribution.
Showing Up Anyway
I picked up the kids from school and kept moving. More cleaning. More responsibility. More effort—despite being constantly told I "do nothing."
I even found time to work on developing a new game. Creating something new always reminds me that I'm still building. Still trying. Still becoming.
An Evening That Felt Right
After dinner, Isabella and I went back and started watching Inside Out—my first time seeing it, which felt oddly fitting given how closely it mirrors emotions I often try to keep in check.
We then walked across the street to youth group and dropped the kids off at a church I trust. That trust matters, especially because I've been criticized for leaving them with "strangers." But this wasn't blind faith or negligence. The adults are trained, vetted, and accountable—no different from school, where children are placed in the care of professionals every day.
Youth groups like this exist everywhere. If dropping kids off in these environments makes someone a bad parent, then millions of parents are guilty. I was one of those kids once—dropped off, welcomed, guided—and youth group was one of the best parts of my childhood.
It was their last youth group before Christmas, and they were excited. There was pizza, laughter, and structure.
Safety without fear.
Community without chaos.
While the kids were there, Eve and I stayed nearby—close enough to feel present, far enough to breathe. Comfortable. Easy.
When Heartbreak Turns Into Anger
What I feel toward The Sister now isn't heartbreak anymore—it's anger.
I hesitated to write this, because things have a way of finding their way back to her, and this isn't meant to place anything on her. What I'm feeling right now—this edge of anger—isn't about something she did. It's about what happens in my own head. The thoughts that circle. The questions I replay. The overthinking that sometimes takes on a life of its own.
I know this feeling will pass. It always does. I'm not sitting in blame or resentment—I'm sitting with my own mind and learning how to quiet it. This isn't anger directed outward. It's something I'm working through internally, with patience and awareness.
I lived in heartbreak for six months. I waited. I hoped. I accepted explanations about being too sick or too tired to see me—sometimes for weeks at a time. And I tried to be understanding, because she does have health issues.
Knowing she's been spending nearly every day with another guy—shifted something inside me. Not in a way that feels accusatory, but in a way that left me confused and unsettled. For months, I accepted that she was often too sick or too tired to see me, and I tried to respect that. What I struggle with isn't the situation itself, but the lack of clarity it created for me. If energy and health were truly that limited, I don't understand how there was room for so much time elsewhere. I'm not saying anyone lied. I'm saying the logic doesn't quite line up in my mind, and that disconnect has been harder to process than I expected. If she was too sick or too tired to see me, then how is she not too sick or too tired to see The Other Guy? Again, not saying she lied. I'm saying I don't understand the logic and it's confused me. It angered me.
Because she ("The Sister") and I weren't on speaking terms, I gave her mother a bicentennial quarter to pass along to her. I know she collects coins, and I still care about her, so it felt like a simple and kind gesture—nothing more than that.
She unblocked me long enough to say thank you, I replied with a quiet "You're welcome." No long conversation. No reopening old chapters. That felt important. We've always had a tendency to drift back into past moments, and I think giving things time—real space—matters if anything healthy is going to exist moving forward.
As of the next day, it seemed she kept me unblocked. It's small, but it felt like progress.
Ideally, I'd like for us to move forward as friends, and if she and The Other Guy are happy together—as it appears they may be—I genuinely wish them the greatest happiness. If they're only friends, as I'm still unsure where that stands, I'm still glad she has someone in her life. Either way, I want good things for her. She deserves it.
And realizing that hurts in a different way.
Something New, Something Real
At the same time, I'm growing attached to Eve. She shows up. She gives time, attention, laughter. We joke. We smile. We navigate hard moments—often sparked by her anxiety—but never with violence, never with cruelty.
It's imperfect, but it's real.
One day I might have a black eye—but not today (inside joke - take no offense).
Where the Day Fell Apart
The day ended on a sour note.
My mother said things that cut deeper than she realizes—calling me a horrible and irresponsible parent because I chose to let Isabella stay up about an hour past her normal bedtime so we could finish a movie.
As if one hour erases years of love, effort, and sacrifice.
I know I'm a good parent.
Ninety percent of the time Eve and I have the kids, we are focused on them—watching movies together, playing board games, going to the park, grabbing lunch, attending fairs, celebrating holidays, building memories.
Do I sometimes get absorbed in my computer (work)? Do I invest emotionally in my relationship with Eve? Yes. I'm human. I'm not perfect.
But my kids come first—even when it isn't acknowledged.
What Still Hurts
What hurts most isn't the criticism.
It's the refusal to see me.
To see how hard I try.
To see that love and responsibility can coexist.
To see that I'm doing the best I can with the life I've been given.
Today was a good day.
I just wish it hadn't ended with me questioning myself again.
What I Learned Today
I learned that doing the right thing doesn't always feel good in the moment—but it still matters. Kindness doesn't require access, and boundaries don't mean I've stopped caring. I can act with intention without reopening old wounds.
How I Feel
I feel tired, but grounded. There's still confusion, and there are still emotions that surface unexpectedly, but they're quieter now. Less reactive. More thoughtful. I don't feel at peace yet—but I feel closer to it.
What I'm Proud Of
I'm proud that I chose restraint instead of impulse. That I didn't push for conversation just because a door cracked open. That I let a small gesture be exactly that—small, sincere, and without expectation.
What I'm Letting Go Of
I'm letting go of the need to fully understand everything right now. Some answers don't arrive on demand. Some clarity comes only after space, time and gentleness with myself.
A Quiet Hope
I hope that whatever paths everyone is on, they lead to peace. For her. For them. For me. I don't need to be part of every future to wish good things into it.
A Note to Myself
Slow down. Trust the pace. Growth doesn't always announce itself—but it's happening.