(when making a decision hurts. And not making one hurts even more)
I have to make the hardest decision of my life. And I am devastated. Because for the first time, I genuinely don’t know what is best. Even when I try to look at everything clearly. Even when I make lists in my head. Even when I weigh every pro and con as if this were an equation with a correct answer. It isn’t.
I separated in January. The children stayed with me. And they see their father almost every day. My oldest has even started sleeping at his house occasionally. And this matters. Because he is a good father. A very present father. Available. Loving. The children adore him. And he adores them. I see it. I feel it. And I know how important that is. Maybe that’s why this hurts so much. Because I have two options. And neither of them feels light.
I can stay. Stay in the same house. In the same city. Keep everything as it is. At least for now. And that matters too. Because staying also means this: Depending financially on him. And on my parents. Who would do absolutely anything for me and for the children. I know they would. But they do not have much. And it hurts to ask. It hurts to need. Staying also means remaining here. Where I am alone. Without family nearby. With very few friends. Counting every euro. Measuring every plan. Adjusting life to the bare minimum. Staying means guaranteeing a very present father. But at the same time, it means losing little pieces of myself every day. And that is the part that scares me the most. I am afraid of losing myself here. Even if it happens slowly. I am afraid of becoming so tired, so lonely, so emotionally stretched that one day I can no longer be the mother I want to be. Of giving them my physical presence, but no longer having the energy to give them joy. Lightness. Emotional availability. Because the truth is this: I need support too. I need somewhere soft to fall. I need a village. And here… I don’t have one.
I only have them. And they cannot be my only support. They should not be. And now, not even always. Because I have to share them too. So I keep asking myself:
What is actually best? A very present father… and a mother trying to survive? Or a whole mother… supported by people who love her, lift her up, and help her breathe, even if that means a father who is less physically present? Because maybe my children do not only need present parents. Maybe they need well parents. A father who is well. And a mother who is well. And here… I don’t know if I can be well. Not without financial stability. Not without support.
Then there is the other option. Leaving. Moving to another city. Almost 300 kilometres away. Taking the children with me. And then everything changes. I would have my family. My parents. My nephews. Friends. A support network. People who would show up. People who always have. For me. And for them. People present on the good days. And on the hard ones too. I would have practical help. A life that works. One school. Simpler routines. More financial stability. A home. More space to give them experiences. Football. Swimming. Scouts. Weekend adventures. Life. And maybe I would have something else too. Solid ground beneath my feet. A place to rest. A version of myself that feels more whole. More capable of giving them the mother they deserve. But… Their father would no longer be as present. And that breaks my heart. Because he wants to be. And they want him too. And I know how valuable that is. Incredibly valuable.
But I also know this: Whatever decision I make, I will do everything in my power to make sure they continue to have their father. Present. Always. In whatever way possible. With time. With attention. With love. I would never take that away from them. Never. And still, here I am. Standing between two roads. One where they have their father closer… and I drift further away from myself. Another where I find myself again… but they are further away from him. And in the middle of all of this, there is one question that refuses to leave me alone:
Isn’t what is best for children also having a mother who is whole? Independent? Able to rebuild her life? Maybe that is the hardest part. There is no right answer. Only one choice. And the courage to live with it afterwards.
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