Apprenticeship of being a young mother

While I was rummaging through my things recently, I came across an article that my husband wrote for his project in one of his subjects back in college. The title was Apprenticeship of being a father. It was basically about the things he went through after we got married at an early age. It was about how he, as a young father, was bound to the sudden changes in his life, lost his freedom, tried so hard to cope with the changes and eventually realized that his life turned into an “endless fast-changing scenes of attitude and behavior,” and that not even he knew who he is and what he want.

My husband has been gone for three months now. He is back in his little room in their house in Pasay City. This is the second time he left, for the same reason, with different people involved. But the pain this second time is far greater than the first, for I thought when he came back two years ago things would be different.

Looking back at the early part of our marriage, I saw that I have tried so hard to prove wrong the people’s theory that an early marriage is bound to break up. I got married at 18, for reasons that most people then find to be enough to get married…early pregnancy.

It was bound to end bitterly for we were too young, this was what I was told. I fought so hard to keep my family together but it was all in vain.

In all those times that I was forced to immerse in the world of motherhood, my husband was having a crisis. He sulked in selfishly, hid all his feelings and our usual communication was lost. It was then that I realized that I was starting to know less of him instead of more. I wanted to reach out to him but he was blocking me out. Until he found happiness in the arms of another and left.

In the one year that he was gone, I searched myself. Like most people, I passed the stage of denial, then the stage of blaming myself for what happened, finally reaching acceptance that blame shouldn’t be dwelled on instead I should work and plan my life for my child, whom, no matter how hard I try to protect the innocence of was forced by the situation to mature. It was for her that I cried, I cursed, I awakened and became strong.

I realized that I worked on the relationship for the wrong reason. I was keeping it together because I wanted to prove something when I should be keeping it together solely because of love. I loved them of course, but my drive was more of pride than of love. In only a year, I changed, hoping that my child would see the good in me, the love and not the pride. All I was thinking then was to give her a good life. The thought of resurrecting the family was far from my mind for at that point I felt everything was over and I was meant to be a single mom.

Alas! I was given another chance, my husband came back. I saw the joy in my daughter’s eyes and even if I wanted to use my pride, I couldn’t for in that one year, it was only that moment that she saw her father that I saw true joy in her.

That was my chance to love even more and lessen my pride. I rebuilt my trust when I saw changes in him. But everything was in vain again for after two years, I unexpectedly saw him in greater light. He hasn’t overcome his crisis and in that one year that he was away, he never had a chance to search himself.

We went back to square one and I felt my life becoming the life he knew, with everything becoming an endless fast-changing scene of attitudes and behaviors. But unlike him who felt that he didn’t really knew who he was and what he wanted, in our sullen situation my role and my reasons became clear. I had to be ready for good and bad things to come.

In June he left, after more than a month of lies and pretentions. He left, for the same reason but with a different person involved. Again I endured the pain of being left, of being called tanga by the people around me, but the most painful of all was that my second child who was less than a month old would never have a chance to get to know him and my eldest will have to go through the same situation all over again. It was for them that I again cried, but this time I didn’t curse, for I found myself to be stronger, now I have planned my life better.

It has only been three months and everything seems to be slowly falling in place without effort. While the pain this time is greater, the acceptance came sooner. I wouldn’t deny that I feel angered by the situation, but this time I can handle the feelings. This time I do not feel alone even if I have less people around me. Even if I feel that there are still lies lurking around me, it doesn’t bother me anymore. These feelings I owe all to love, of my family and my daughter, they are the reason I think clearly. Now I curse not, instead I pray, no longer for his return but for his happiness.

Looking back at all of the things that have happened, everything is clear except for one. How could he (if not all men) think of his life as a young father to be very difficult, to be freedomless, to be exhausting without considering that I (like all women) as a person and not just as a woman is having the same crisis as he is? The dilemma of men does not differ to that of women, they only have different ways of dealing with it.

I was also bound to the sudden changes in my life, lost my freedom, tried so hard to cope with the changes, but I know who I am and what I want. And if in the apprenticeship of being a father many men fail, I, like most women, would pass with flying colors in the apprenticeship of being a mother.

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The missing chapter of my life

An older friend told me once, “life is like a book, you will not be able to finish it if there’s a missing chapter, you can’t move on in life if there are unsettled matters in your past.”

I never did quite understand it until the time came when I started feeling that my life is becoming a vicious cycle, and not a straight line.

Twenty six years old, a degree from a prestigious university, a year to go until a master’s degree, two daughters, a good job, a loving family, faithful friends…I should feel complete by now…but I’m not.

I woke up the other night wiping my teary eyes.

That was the worse dream I have ever had.

A man was standing over me laughing and telling me that I will live in the shadow of my father until God knows when.

I couldn’t move.

I was trying hard to push him away, but I can’t.

The pressure of his hands on my shoulder’s were too strong for me to move. I shouted and opened my eyes.

With blurred visions I looked around and saw the familiar closet, a crib with a beautiful baby inside and another beautiful child curled beside me. I’m safe finally. But why was I still crying?

I’ve been crying for days for reasons I can’t seem to figure out.

I felt really weird.

For days I’ve been having this strong urge of moving away, living on my own and proving to the world that I can make it through alone.

I thought it was responsibility, but reality slapped me straight to my face, it was pride.

“You’re the most proud person I’ve ever met!” Over and over again the voice of my friend rang in my head. This is what he has been telling me for days now.

“You have to accept the fact that in your current situation you can’t afford to be alone and risk you children’s life. What’s going through your head right now is purely pride! Something that you ought to let go soon or you’ll find yourself truly alone and miserable!”

For years, I have been feeling this need to prove something to myself, my children and the world. That I am the best and I can stand alone, strong and firm for my children. Bullshit to all of those who say that no man is an island, I am at my best when I’m alone…or so I thought.

The man in my dream was putting so much pressure on me. I feel nauseated.

What’s happening to me? The dream was so real. It reminded me of the man I talked to when I was thirteen.

I finally found the missing chapter in my life.

How it all began...

I was thirteen, happily clinging to my dad’s arms, when a man came to me, a friend of my dad. I didn’t know him but he came to me and greeted me “you’re so lucky you have a dad like him, you’ll be like him when you grow up!”

I was so proud of me being the daughter of a very intelligent and responsible man after he said that.

Growing up like my dad would be the best thing that would happen to me until reality struck me, growing up and following his footstep would mean me living in his shadows. An interpretation which I never knew where I draw from. But it brought fear to me.

I don’t want to be addressed as ‘the daughter of _______.’ I want to be reffered to as ‘______ the one who did the ____ and the ____ and the blah, blah, blah!’

From that night on I conditioned my mind that I will make a name for myself, not one out of my father’s. I will be as good at him, but in my own terms.

I grew older, so did my pride, so did my desire to be different...It brought me nowhere.

That was the day I allowed my pride to overcome me and think of no one else but myself. Run my life not of love and compassion but of pride and selfishness.

I wasn’t strong…I was weak!

I kept running away!

I became good at it!

So good that I can’t find my way to my goals!

I couldn’t stop crying so I closed my eyes once more, not to sleep but to pray…for forgiveness, not from the Lord but more from myself.

I have to find a way to forgive myself for not reciprocating the love that the people around me have shown me…of thinking only of myself…of being so proud…of forgetting.

…forgetting why I’m here and being loved.

…forgetting to thank God for my family, for a shadow that I should be proud to follow for it comes only to very few fortunate people.

…forgetting that I, like a normal person commits mistake.

The missing chapter of my life happened years ago. It came back in a dream. I have to settle it in reality.

That is how the cycle should end.

That is how a book ends…with a resolution.

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