"I told you that this was going to happen!" I nearly yelled into my phone as I paced in the street in my socks and running gear. The calm and peace of my recent run obliterated with a simple phone call to my attorney after another custody issue. While I could not bring myself to say the words "I told you so" I offered her a version of it, speaking my truth, knowing that the arrangement that was set in July would not work beyond the summer. I stood in my running gear, my mind remembering that morning.
Standing outside a courtroom, my heart pounding, shaking slightly, awaiting an attorney that I had spoken with on the phone, but not yet met in person. My usual attorney unavailable, so a new one for the practice come to represent my and my interests in this ongoing custody battle. My anxiety threatening to skyrocket as I remembered the moments a few months earlier when my world crashed just around the corner from where I currently stood. I breathed slowly, centered on the details upon the wooden door in front of me, and fought to calm myself. As my attorney arrived we smiled and I was boosted by her countenance. In we went, I entered with a small measure of confidence, having been assured that nearly nothing would change with this simple hearing. The officer spoke, the attorneys spoke, I heard snippets, but I also heard a roaring in my ears. It was nearly too much at moments, yet I stayed as calm as I could. Moments of the discussion haunt me; his attorney twisting my actions and my generous nature into something different while my attorney sat there in silence. I managed to stay quiet, knowing that it was not for me to speak to the officer in that moment. It is only now that I regret not saying anything to my attorney.
Into the hallway we went to strategize and come to a "solution" to the custody issue that the court found at hand. I had no issue with the current arrangement, yet with their dad wanting more time there was an issue. Back and forth the attorneys went between us offering ideas. I balked at so many of them, beginning to grow angry and ever more anxious. What was happening? I had been assured on multiple occasions that this would not be happening right now; that I would have had more time before anything changed. I downright laughed at a few suggestions. I told my attorney multiple times that the proposed changes would work for the summer, but that there would be issues come the start of the school year. My voice was not heard, ignored again. Years of experience and failed expectations meaning nothing to the person representing me, nor the court. In defeat I agreed to a plan, it was that or enter the courtroom and let them make a new arrangement without having any input. Back into the courtroom and the officer was pleased we came to an agreement temporarily. It was determined that we would return in a few months to discuss adding even more time before a final court date would be determined. I was defeated, confused and angry.
Leaving the courthouse I shook in anger and disbelief. How did this happen? I regretted my decisions a year ago to try to move to Oregon and find a fresh start. I began to berate myself, thankfully a friend intervened and helped remind me that I was allowed to want a fresh start, to pursue big dreams and goals. There is the possibility that without the propulsion of my relocation bid this custody change may have never occurred but there is no knowing, and with the guidance of friends and someone special they helped me reset and find some temporary peace with the upheaval.
Standing in the street my anger rising at the loss of my voice months earlier I unleashed more of it on the attorney. Document, document, document I was told. He's been given an opportunity and continues to fail at parts of it she tells me. A few weeks later we are repeating this conversation and I am yelling at her, my frustration at its breaking point. It's not fair to the kids, it's not fair to me, and it's in violation of the agreement. I am powerless in the moment to do more than yell and document it all. Documentation in the moment feels futile, sitting and holding space for a time that is months away with nothing that can change in the interim. My needs, the needs of my children feeling as if they have been thrown aside for what feels like a whim, though I know it is not a whim. I know in my heart that their dad loves them, and wants more time with them.
It is my fears, my experiences with him, and watching their experiences with him over the past 6 years being divorced, and then the years prior that have me proactively advocating for them, defending them. For 6 years I have been there nearly every night for them, driven them to practices, picked them up, taken them to the doctor and more. In about 5 years Miss B will graduate high school and my life will be forever changed with them as legal adults and high school graduates. All of this swirls in my head and more as I speak with my attorney, unable to easily voice my concerns and voice them coherently. My children, my crew as I often call them, are a huge part of my world, my goal to raise them to be kind, compassionate humans without a sense of entitlement. I fear what happens to them when they have less time with me during these teenage years when they require more guidance and shaping. The teenage years are a revisiting of the toddler era yet with humans that can speak clearly, and in my case are all taller than me. It is in these years that they work to find their identities and they need enough freedom to explore and experiment, but the safety and security of home with love and boundaries. How do I provide that in the manner that I feel they need when they are with me less? I know that many split families do this constantly, and yet I can't help but challenge against something that feels so inherently wrong for my family.
With a final court date arriving in a month I think about those afternoons spent pacing in the street in my running gear, sans shoes, advocating for myself and my children to my attorney, a mother's passionate plea to adjust things to provide more stability to the 4 humans that I am blessed to call my children. I can see the fear I held, and that I continue to hold. I hear the underlying intense love I have for them, and the protectiveness that so many parents feel for their children. I see a woman finding her voice after being burned to ashes, left with nothing, and doing this out of love, not desperation. I see her acknowledging her fears, her own inadequacies, and yet still finding strength and stones upon which to stand and step to pursue what she believes is best for her family through love and advocacy. There is no phoenix here rising from these ashes, nor a rebirth; there is a woman growing, changing, loving, and fighting with love for herself and her family.
