Shedding Regret

I should've known better.

It is a heavy thing to carry the contrast of what I know a father should be against what my children are actually getting.

I grew up with a dad who was the definition of safety, reliability, and consistency. That blueprint is permanently etched into my mind. I know firsthand how profound a good father’s impact is, watching my ex fail to provide that same foundation feels like my own personal failure.

Sometimes, I look back at the beginning of our story and the intrusive thoughts take over: “How did I let this happen? Why did I have three kids with this man? I should have chosen better.”

If you are also trapped in survival mode, pulling all the slack while watching your kids' father choose selfishness over his own children, I want to share how I am learning to unpack the guilt, reframe the exhaustion, and see what I am actually building.

1. Escaping the Myth of my "Bad Choice"

I have a weak ass baby daddy. True we were married, but at the end of the day.. that's just what he is. When I look back with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight, it’s incredibly easy to beat myself up. But I have to look at the context of the woman I was when I made those choices.

When I met him, I wasn’t my best self. I was in a low place and just trying to get by. When our internal emotional resources are depleted, our radar for what we truly deserve gets skewed. I wanted connection and a family. By the time he fully showed his colors—the hands-off attitude even when I was home with our first child, the lack of gentleness, the deep selfishness—I was already in the thick of it, trying to make it work for the sake of my kids. Or if I'm totally real, trying to save face and make something out of nothing.

What I'm realizing about my guilt: My guilt is actually just my deep love for my children disguised as self-blame. I want so badly to shield them from his lack of effort that I am trying to take responsibility for his character flaws. He is the one who should feel guilty for placing them last. I am the one ensuring they are never left behind.

2. The Pure Disgust of a Lazy, Misogynistic Ex

It is one thing to have an ex who is just lazy or absent; it is another level of hell to deal with a man who actively projects his misogyny onto his own daughters.

He doesn't work. He doesn't contribute a single dime to the household. Instead, he sits around chasing women and spending what little he has on them, completely blind to the fact that he is failing at the most basic duty of a man. The sheer laziness is pathetic, but it’s his venomous, manipulative behavior that makes my blood boil.

He bullies my daughters horribly. He talks to our oldest, which is technically my step-daughter- like she is a bitch off the street, completely disregarding the fact that she is the flesh of his flesh. He tries to pit the girls against each other, using classic, manipulation tactics because he is too small to lead them with love.

My second oldest is just now starting to wake up and realize exactly who her father is. And even my youngest—the baby of the crew—is starting to see through his act. She doesn't fully understand how foul he is just yet, but she already sees that he does not help us. When my money doesn't stretch far enough to cover what they need, she understands why, because she sees me breaking my back while he does absolutely nothing.

Between my kids, they had over 150 soccer games last year. He did not make it to a single one. Not one. He is a ghost when it comes to supporting them, but a monster when it comes to tearing them down.

3. The Cost of Survival Mode: Feeling Like I've Lost My "Softness"

One of the most invisible, exhausting costs of divorcing a neglectful partner, or even just having a "bad" co-parent, is the feeling that I have lost my feminine energy.

While dude sits around playing with his man stick, chasing women, and spending money on things that don't matter, I have been forced to become both the provider and the protector. I have to be the logic, the logistics, the discipline, the finances, and the sole emotional anchor. That requires a fierce, hard, masculine edge. It leaves very little room for me to be soft, creative, or at peace.

• I'm not "less feminine"—I am heavily armored. I’ve had to build a fortress to keep my three children safe, fed, and loved.

• Survival mode is a season, not my final destination. Right now, I am in the heavy lifting phase of my life. It requires high energy, but as my children grow, the logistical load will shift or I will break... and guess what's NOT going to happen.

  
  

I’m trying to give myself permission to find micro-moments of softness now. A hot bath, a cup of tea in total silence, or a hobby or snack that is strictly for me. These aren’t luxuries; they are necessary maintenance to remind me of who I am outside of just being a "survival mom."

4. Managing the Anxiety: Raising My Daughters and My Son

It breaks my heart to watch my daughters witness a father who is rude and ungentle. It terrifies me to think that my son won’t have the blueprint of a good man, especially since my own dad—who is such a wonderful presence—is getting older. To cope, I’ve had to reframe how my children see the world, because through the lens of a child, the math looks a little different.

For My Daughters

They are seeing his flaws, his bullying, and his absence in painful detail. More importantly, they are seeing their mother refuse to tolerate it. By walking away and divorcing him, I taught my daughters the ultimate life lesson: You do not have to stay where you are disrespected. They are watching me pull all the slack, and they are learning that a woman is fully capable of holding up the sky without a weak man dragging her down. They will grow up looking for partners who match my standard of strength, and they will spot men like their father from a mile away and run.

For My Son

I used to worry constantly about his male energy, which is why I keep him enrolled in sports and around my father as much as possible. I’ve reminded myself not to discount the power of my aging dad. Even a few years of a grandfather’s steady, quiet, respectful love can imprint on a boy's heart for a lifetime.

Furthermore, a boy does not only learn how to be a man from men. He learns how to treat people, how to be accountable, and what integrity looks like by watching the primary parent in his life. Because I am consistent, loving, and reliable, my son is learning those traits from me.

Final Thoughts: Forgiving the Woman I Was

I cannot go back and rewrite the introduction of my story. But I have complete control over the chapters I am writing today.

The man I married is a background character now. Let him chase whatever illusions he wants; his inability to show up for his kids is his tragic loss, and one day, the data will show it. My children will grow up, they will see the truth with their own eyes, and they will remember exactly who stood by them when things got hard.

I am learning to forgive the woman I was when I met him. She did the best she could to find light in a dark place. I thank her for being strong enough to get me to the other side of that marriage, and then I look at the life I am fiercely protecting today.

I am pulling all the slack right now—and that just means the victory of raising three incredible, resilient kids will belong entirely to me.