Disappointed, Again

 

Disappointed, Again

Originally written August 16, 2012 | Updated for new blog in 2024

Reflection: Looking back now, I see this moment through a much clearer lens. At the time, I was 22, still without a license, stuck at home a lot with young kids, and just craving family and community. My mom was 41, my sister only 18. I didn’t fully understand what addiction does to the brain—not just the drinking itself, but the mindset that often remains even in the in-between. I know now that some of the letdowns I experienced were less about me and more about how addiction shapes priorities, awareness, and follow-through.

I still hurt. I still felt invisible. But I also now hold a deeper compassion for what was happening behind the scenes—patterns, pain, and survival mechanisms I wasn’t equipped to name back then. Even so, my needs mattered. I just wanted to be part of something—to feel chosen, included, and seen.

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So. Aggravated.

My mom told me when she got her check, she was going to Worcester to buy a Kindle. I asked if I could tag along to get mine looked at. She said, "Sure, but I don’t want to bring the kids."

Of course not.

Okay, I’ll ask Michelle to watch them.

Next day:

“Did you get your money?”

“Yup.”

“So are you going?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I still come?”

“Sure, talk to Michelle.”

So I do:

“Hey Michelle, can you watch the kids?”

“No, I’m going with Mom.”

“Wait, what? Why?”

“She gave me money for clothes.”

...Great. Mom already said I could go with her.

“But I haven’t been in forever,” she says.

Okay. Fine. Whatever. Bye.

Then yesterday, Mom says, “Hey we’re going to Worcester to shop. Did you want to come with us? We don’t mind if you bring the kids. We’ll help you.”

I say, “Yeah! That sounds awesome.”

“Can we stay the night so we can leave early?”

“Definitely.”

This morning:

“Oh hey, we’re not going anymore. We’re broke.”

Really? Fine. I’ll just take the bus.

“Sorry.”

“Nope, it’s fine.”

Then I ask, “Would you mind grabbing Dunkin’? There’s nothing to eat here.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.”

Then Mom calls—Nalla’s having kittens.

“OMG I gotta go! See you later.”

Wow. Thanks guys. Glad everyone cares so much about me.

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Closing Reflection: I’ve learned that sometimes the people who let us down are the ones carrying their own invisible storms. And while understanding that doesn't erase the pain, it helps me shift the blame away from my own worth. I still want family. I still believe in community. But I also believe in boundaries, in healing, and in making space for relationships that can show up with intention. If you’ve ever felt left out, used, or overlooked—please know it wasn’t your fault. You deserve to be chosen.

Wide Awake: A Reflection on Young Motherhood

Wide Awake: A Reflection on Young Motherhood

Originally written August 14, 2012 | Updated for new blog in 2024

Reflection: I wrote this at 19, a few weeks into motherhood, at a time when my world felt like it had cracked open. I had imagined that love, family, and friendship would hold me through those early days—but instead, I felt like I was falling. This entry reminds me how young I was, how much pressure I was under, and how deeply I wanted someone—anyone—to show up and say, "You're not alone."

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I can’t help but love this song. It’s a constant reminder of how I felt after just a few weeks of being a mom at 19.

When I was pregnant, I felt so close to Mat. I was excited to have a baby. I truly thought I could handle it all. I had my family, my friends, and the baby's dad was still around. Everything seemed like it would be okay.

But after I had Andy, it was like someone flipped a switch in the middle of the night.

Mat didn’t help with the baby—at all. None of my friends came by. My mom became unreliable. My grandmother was all over the place. We lived with Mat’s parents, but they never offered to help either. Melissa never pitched in with housework. By the time Darryl got home, he’d fix a car or mow the lawn and go to bed.

Mat complained about school and his job at Price Chopper, but it didn’t feel like he saw me or what I was carrying. I felt completely and utterly alone.

I thought maybe if I got a job, we could move out and build something for ourselves. So I did. But Mat refused to leave his parents’ house—like he thought the world would fall apart if we moved out.

I feel like I keep falling and hitting the pavement. Then I think I’ve finally woken up. I feel awake—until I realize I’m just dreaming again, falling all over again.

I just want to wake up for real this time.

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Closing Reflection: When I read this now, I want to hug that version of myself. She was so young, so brave, and so determined to create something better. I was doing the best I could with what I had—and I deserved support, not silence. If you’re in that place right now, just know that surviving those lonely, heavy nights means something. You won’t always be stuck there. And even when you feel like you’re falling, you’re building wings without even knowing it.