I cried the other night, alone and silently. I cried the other night, because I felt for the first time in a long time, that one parent is not enough. That I am not enough. I went to bed and almost felt like my heart was rebreaking, like the wound dehisced. I cried the other night, but here I am, doing it on my own.
It wasn't anything specific that had happened, nor had the day started off negatively. It was just a cloudy afternoon, where I carried my heart in my stomach, and my mind haunted me. My anxiety was at it's greatest and Noah's mood was foul. He was acting out, and screamed angrily at the top of his lungs, threw things and shoved everything and anything in his way. The happiest little boy in the world, acting out without me knowing why. I helped him through it, I calmed him down, I was patient even though I was screaming on the inside. I held him in my arms as my son calmed himself and I felt empty. At that moment, I felt incomplete, like I needed someone. Not a friend or my parents, but my co-parent. My son's father. We were suppose to do this together, fight the tough times together, even though we might not be a couple, we should still have done it together. I took that feeling with me to bed. Noah was in a better mood, but my soul was still heavy. I doubted myself, and worried that I can't do it on my own, I cried that night, but I woke up the next morning and got it done anyway. I was reminded again by Noah's beautiful smile, humorous spirit and kind soul that 9 out of 10 times he makes it easy on me. That he is the best child in the whole world and I am so lucky to have him. That there is not anything I couldn't, that I wouldn't do for him, and that I will spend the rest of my life fighting for him, no matter if I am alone or not. That's what being a mother is, a real life superhero, and I am especially proud to be a single mother.