I had a lot of stepdads. So many that their faces merged into a faceless blur. But the names? The names stick. There was Uncle Nick, Uncle Konstantin, Uncle Alex. Every time a new guy showed up at our place, my mom would whisper, "Don’t call him uncle, call him dad." But I never did. Dad is one person, and it sure as hell wasn’t any of these balding guys with cheap cigars and fake grins.
Even as a kid, I understood that words are not just sounds floating in the air. They carry weight. Every word leaves a mark, like footprints in wet concrete. My mom either didn’t understand that, or she preferred to ignore it, as if you could rewrite the meaning of the word “dad” as easily as swapping boyfriends.
She wanted me to accept these men as “dad,” but I saw through it. "Dad" isn’t just a title you hand to the next guy in line. It’s the person who stands by you when life punches you in the gut. But these men? They came and went, leaving behind only the smell of stale tobacco and empty promises. It was like they knew they didn’t deserve the title, and I knew it too.
What was striking is that she would pick them up like wounded birds, pulling them out of gutters and swamps where they were drowning in alcohol. She would clean them up, dress them, and pull them from rock bottom. But over time, they would disappear. One of them, she even bought a car for. Well, no, they saved up for it together. Though, at that time, she was working, and he was not. In the end, he left in that car, disappearing into the unknown.
I remember how I envied my friend, whose father passed away. His mother never brought anyone into the house as a stepdad. But at my place, they changed more often than the batteries in the TV remote. Sometimes it seemed like they disappeared faster than I could get used to them.
I don’t know if I have the right to judge my mom for her dependence on men… After all, everyone has their weaknesses and flaws. There’s no such thing as perfection. And you know what? I think I do have the right. Because all these years, I saw her pain and her mistakes, but their consequences fell on my shoulders too. I grew up with it—her choices, her hopes, which turned into disappointment every time. And maybe I have the right to be angry. Not because she was weak, but because I had to be strong.
The photo was taken by Trinity Kubassek and sourced from pexels.com
https://www.pexels.com/@trinitykubassek
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Thank you so much, I really appreciate your support.
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Good thing you are not judging her.
It's not her fault for desiring a life partner and maybe a father figure for you.
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He does judge his mom he says he has the right. It must be great to be a man.
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I didn’t choose to be born a boy or a girl, just as you don’t know all the details of my story.
"Never judge a person until you’ve walked a long path in their shoes."
I understand that I have no right to judge my mother. But the pain and resentment are still with me, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t let them go.
Reading your comments, especially the one under my post, I feel that life has hurt you deeply as well. I don’t know your story, but I really hope you can find the strength to let go of your pain — something I, unfortunately, haven’t been able to do.
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I am not sure if I feel that pain of my childhood but if you scroll through my posts you might find content I wrote a very small part about it.
Whatever we experiemce in life is part of us. Letting go would mean I ignore the lessons, the warnings and I would sit at the coffee table with my mother (no way that would ever happen).
What is left is to accept or better find a way to make it part of you.
I never asked to be born and that's what I told my mother as well. I left and will never return. If we were strangers we would never be friends is what I told her and I no longer (since I turned 19) invest time in people giving me stress. I rather be alone.
I wish you strength but mosr of all a peaceful environment and true love.
Pamper yourself if no one else does.
🤗🍀♥️
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Like you I wished both my parents died good to keep the illusion high they were great and loving. Most parents struggle through life and wanted or not the child is rarely what they expected.
Dad runs out, mom is stuck and pointed at being incomplete and raising the next drug addict or kid in the gutter.
What is left if you work your arses off, yourself to death? Not depending on a man but a bit of appreciation, knowing that you are liked and this said by an adult instead of a child who doesn't know better as "loving his parent".
The other option is staying single and slowly being wiped out by life.
In the case of many like your mom they are cheated and abused with the end result even the children hate them.
Should moms stay? I tend to say no. If a man can disappear and doesn't care why should the woman? At least if she leaves there's no need to try to build a normal family and stay lonely for the rest of her life which sounds better than be hated and blamed for trying to fit in.
Isn't it interesting how these men are rarely blamed for scamming and abusive behaviour?
Greetings from a single mom.
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