highclasspoverty

[highclasspoverty]

[highclasspoverty]

I felt an old familiar panic. I’m trying to be someone who doesn’t waste their mornings pacing the floor and following each intrusive thought to nowhere.

Remember to breathe, I told myself.

I bought myself an app, might as well use it.

Inhale. Exhale. Hold.

Why does my heart ache.

Inhale. Exhale. Hold.

Seriously, what is this.

Inhale. Exhale. Hold except now I’m crying and I don’t know why.

Except I do know why.

It’s everything. It’s everything. It’s everything.

…

…

I suck my tears back into my eyes. That’s enough for now. There’s too much to do and not enough time for a pity party. I still feel that ache in my chest but I’ll tend to it later. Later. I’ll deal with grief later.

[highclasspoverty]

I know you’re not allowed to say these things. And believe me I don’t—not aloud anyway. But I’m anonymous here. I hate my child’s father. I’m horrified that I ever had a child with this man, he repulses me. It’s like any good left in him was in the sperm that impregnated me, that is how much he has changed. He’s a monster now, hiding in the flesh of a body I used to know.

I loved this man once. I loved him more than I loved myself, which wasn’t saying a whole lot. I thought I knew him. I thought I understood him. I knew nothing.

Space, time and therapy has made me realize that the love I thought I felt for him was simply a reflection of my own self loathing. He told me what to do. He told me who to be. He told me when we’d fuck. The life he built for me was beautiful, but I had no input. He left me once he got bored, but he got me pregnant before he walked out. His way to mark me, brand me.

He exhausted me, impregnated me, and left me broken to raise a child he begged me to abort. He threatened my life, drained my finances, began to tell me where to live and when to work. I was used up, no good to him. I was no longer a pet, I was a burden. He hated me and wanted to hate my child.

Over the last 5 years I have been slowly, secretly building my life back. I’ve been doing the work, breaking the cycles of abuse, facing my traumas. He doesn’t know how far I’ve come. He pretends not to see.

We have our court date in a month. I’m moving to my own place soon. My daughter is happy, healthy and thriving. I now know what true love is, thanks to her. Trust me, the irony is not lost on me that the man I hate with every cell in my body, shares DNA with the person I love most.

I am one step closer to freedom. One step closer to forgiveness. But today, I fucking hate that man.

[highclasspoverty]

[highclasspoverty]

It’s a sweet, silly fantasy to believe that I am loved.

[highclasspoverty]

I always thought a scarcity mindset was the belief that you’ll never have enough. But If you ask me, I’m always in a scarcity mindset because I’m only ever focused on what I don’t have.

Forget the abundance of love I have, I can only focus on the love I don’t. Forget the wealth I have, I can only focus on the debts.

Im blocking my blessings here with this goddam scarcity mindset.

(Shut up if this is normal for you bc this was profound for me.)

[highclasspoverty]

ace of cups (reversed)

oh how sweet it is to be loved, if only I knew the taste.

^^ that's the kind of sentiment that will keep you stuck if you're not careful. For if you find your source of love to be sparce, why look no further than your own ribcage to find the blockage.

Today's task: love yourself as much as possible and see what you attract. Eat a healthy breakfast, take a few deep breaths, close your eyes and listen to your favorite song it doesn't have to be extravagent. Taste the sweetest of love from your own hand today.

Try it. I dare you. (i'll do it, too).

[highclasspoverty]

If one more person tells me I’m pretty I’m going to believe them.

[highclasspoverty]

Breaking the cycle of abuse.

Some days it’s like running away as fast as you can

Other days it’s like walking through mud.

Today, I am in the mud.

[highclasspoverty]

mother’s day reminded me that being the mom i always needed doesn’t undo the ache of not having one.

it also reminded me that finding joy as a single parent doesn’t make me hate my child’s father any less. both things can be true. and they usually are.