Divorce with kids means custody arrangements. This is complicated all on its own and gets even more complicated when food allergies are involved. This is a topic I’ve wanted to address for a while, but working up the gumption to talk about it, let alone post about it here, has been tough to muster. Today the band-aid comes off as we dive into the heart of the situation.

Our custody arrangement is a little different. We have joint managing conservatorship but I get the kiddos every weekend, from Friday evening to Sunday evening. To be clear, I’m not saying it’s the best arrangement, nor am I saying it’s what I want, it’s simply what is at this time. It’s supposed to work out so we have equal time, but I got the short end of the stick. I had a very crappy lawyer. It sucked a little less while I was close by, finishing my degree, in Denton. It’s become more difficult with me in East Texas and them in DFW.

It’s been like this for a little over a year and it’s taken me this long to work up the stones to actually get on here and talk to you about it.

The Meat and Potatoes

To be totally honest, I try really hard not to think about it during the week. It breaks my heart and it’s taken a long time for me to be able to drop them off on Sunday without wanting to burn the world down. I still do, because damn it, it hurts like hell. But I’ve made it to a place where…I don’t want to say it hurts less, because it doesn’t….where….my badass comes out and I weather it with my sheer badassery….yeah, let’s go with that.

Am I any less of a person? Technically no, but it feels like an integral part of me is carved out every Sunday, deeper and deeper; I’m hoping with enough time there will be less to carve out and it won’t hurt so much anymore. At the beginning, it felt like I was ripping out my heart with my bare hands and watching it walk away, so I’ve certainly made progress. How’s that for imagery? Hah.

Morose, yes. But this is the real deal. The real story. The real me. There’s an incredible amount of pain that I’ve fought through and I’m just getting to the point where I see a tiny little flicker of light in the distance.

This situation makes me feel like less of a mom. Which means it feels like if I post here about daily life with food allergies, I’m a fraud. Like I have no business giving advice or providing help when my stuff is so out of whack. I’m afraid of judgment. But this place began as a place to share my story. Those are the roots of this space.

Now what?

All this to say content here is going to look a little different. It has to, because the person I am today is VASTLY different from the person that began this space, and now you know why.

This is my story.

 

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