Not long after, Wordfather returned to work and my mother went back home. As I had already experienced before, it didn’t take long for the chaos of daily life to settle back in. The responsibility for the household and the care of the children once again fell entirely on my shoulders, and even the finances became mine to manage. According to Wordfather, I was supposed to find all my fulfilment in the children—as if that should be my only source of happiness.
And yet, despite that pressure, I continued to grow. I taught myself web design and occasionally built websites for others. At the same time, my interest in the spiritual path deepened; I read extensively and immersed myself in everything connected to that world.
A few streets away lived a boy who was friends with my eldest. His mother and I became close, and she also had a son the same age as my Riddle Daughter. With her, everything was always a puzzle—trying to understand what she needed, what worked, what didn’t—while my Professor Son seemed to have an answer for everything. He had this disarming way of giving advice, like the time he suggested his little sister should eat more liver sausage so she could “live more.”
I often went cycling with that mother and the children, which was an adventure in itself. Riddle Daughter sat in the front seat of the bike, and Professor Son sat behind me. But oh, how he could make it difficult sometimes. Whenever we took a turn, he would lean—not in the opposite direction, as you would expect to help with balance—but often the same way, tilting dangerously just to get a better view. It’s honestly a miracle he never collided with a lamppost.
We also took the younger ones to baby swimming classes, which was a unique experience—wonderful, but also a little frightening. The instructor asked me to gently push Riddle Daughter away from me into the water, explaining that her natural reflex would be to swim back. At first, I simply couldn’t do it. It felt so unnatural to let go of your child like that. But the instructor stayed close, reassuring me, giving me the confidence to try. And what an experience it was—she swam right back to me, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Meanwhile, the loneliness began to settle deep within me. The relationship therapy we had placed so much hope in hadn’t brought the change I had longed for. It felt as though we kept returning to the same point, especially when it came to his mother and sister. For him, there was no issue. For me, it became increasingly difficult. It wasn’t even that I couldn’t get along with his mother—the real problem was the way he always placed her first. In truth, I often felt like I came last, somewhere far down a list that included his colleagues, his friends, and his family.
In his work, he continued to grow and thrive. It seemed like he had everything—a career, a social life, the freedom to move as he pleased. I, on the other hand, couldn’t even imagine taking on more work, with my back problems and, as I would later discover, my ADHD. And then there was that relentless guilt—the feeling of wanting something for myself, while at the same time not wanting my children to be raised by others. It became an endless inner battle, a constant ping-pong match in my mind that never seemed to stop.
Financially, we managed reasonably well, but I was often the one who had to apply the brakes. I became the “bad guy,” the one who had to say no—to going out for dinner, to spontaneous spending—things Wordfather enjoyed all too easily. It felt like I was always the one holding the line, while he simply drifted through his own world.
It brought me back to my youth, to a time when—despite my back problems—I always tried to push through. Like during my secondary school years, when I travelled with my best Tienertour friend. Those summers felt like an escape from everything—responsibilities, expectations, limitations. We had looked forward to them for months, planning every detail.
☕ A Cup of Comfort
Dear you,
Sometimes it feels as if your life has become one long list of responsibilities that only you seem to see. While the world keeps moving—and your partner chases his career—you remain standing, holding it all together. Children on your hip, groceries running through your mind, and a quiet guilt that never seems to stop speaking.
You haven’t lost yourself.
You are constantly becoming yourself again—
between cooking, cycling, crying, and letting go.
And while it may seem as though no one truly sees how heavy it can be, you keep giving.
You keep carrying.
You are not the villain.
You are the protector of the household.
The keeper of boundaries.
The quiet strength that says no when no one else will—because you know what is needed, even when it is not what is wanted.
Maybe you feel invisible sometimes.
Maybe it feels as though you are always last on someone’s list of priorities.
But in the heart of your children,
you are the sun everything revolves around.
So take a sip.
Rest.
Breathe.
Lean back for a moment.
This cup of comfort is for you—
mother, woman, human—
who rises again every single day,
even when no one sees how much you have already carried. ❤️
Geef een reactie