Sophie
They came into my life together.
I thought it would be the start of my family. A little girl of four years old. I took her on, cooked for her, bought her pretty clothes and fun toys, I bathed her and plaited her hair.
My own family would soon join this little group I believed.
But my husband's ex had other ideas and years of court ensued. She wanted to drive a wedge between him and his growing girl. I became their champion, grappling with the reality of our situation, filled with legal jargon and social services madness.
I succeeded in holding our little group together. But I lost any love I might have had for her and he lost any desire to grow our family.
And so several hard years into our marriage he ended my dreams of being a mother. I felt too invested, too tired, too old, to start over, so we got a dog. Another stray for me to care for.
Fast forward 12 years, and his daughter has moved in with us. She hasn’t chosen me I’ve come to realise, she’s just unable to stand her own mother.
So I care for her in a very transactional way. I'm 'included' enough to wash her knickers, make her bed, prepare her meals and arrange her school logistics but I'm excluded from parents' evening, not recognised on mothers' day, not hugged... or thanked. There’s no warmth. She is far from a substitute for my own little one. She is a daily reminder of what I have been forced to give up. I've never experienced pregnancy or motherhood. She wasn't the start of my family, she is its final chapter.
I’d have been a good mother, I know that. But I’ve nowhere to put my love in this life I’m trapped in.
I am alone in my marriage with this huge weight of grief and resentment.
Photo by Sebastian Doll on Unsplash