“You don’t have to set yourself on fire to keep others warm.” -Amanda Lovelace

My Interpretation: There is a difference between love & self-immolation. For years, I confused the two – mistaking my own burnout for devotion, my exhaustion for commitment, my silence for stability. But love should never demand your destruction. You are not required to burn just so someone else can feel comfortable. At some point, you have to step back from the flames & realize you were never meant to be the kindling.

---

Rowan’s Birthday Party Day

I used to think doing everything together made us stronger.
A team.
A partnership.
Two parents building memories side by side.

But somewhere along the way
“together” became code for
me doing everything while he hovered nearby
holding a balloon,
a beer,
or a complaint.

I kept saying it would be easier if we did it as a unit.
I kept convincing myself that at least we would be in the same room.
I kept hoping he would meet me halfway.

But every year, every event, every holiday,
I ended up carrying the mental load,
the physical load,
the emotional load,
the everything
while he carried a drink
& the audacity to ask why I was tired.

& maybe today was the first day I stopped pretending
that this is teamwork.

Because today was not hard because I hosted a birthday party.
Today was hard because I was the only adult actually hosting it.

I was the one cooking, prepping, directing, organizing, managing, mothering, fixing.
He filled ten balloons.
He hung two banners.
He called that “help.”

& still – somehow –
I was the one accused of “not being social enough.”

God forbid I sat for ten minutes
on the heaviest day of my cycle
to turn a TV on for our child
because his little feet hurt.

God forbid I took one breath.
One pause.
One moment off stage.

Because the minute the spotlight was not on him,
he felt wronged.

⸻

A Pattern Painted in Jokes

The wreckage was not the big explosion.
It was all the tiny humiliations,
wrapped in jokes,
aimed right at me.

The cupcakes I traveled for hours for —
mocked endlessly as a waste of time
until everyone lost their minds over how beautiful they were.
Suddenly he loved them.
Suddenly he “knew they’d be a hit.”
Suddenly he was proud of my efforts,
Suddenly he wanted me to tell the story about how I met Abby Jimenez…
because other people validated it first.

The travel I do –
“too much,”
“selfish,”
“unnecessary,”
until it benefits him.
Until I bring home something cool that makes him look good.
Until my experiences become his props.

Rocky’s sweater –
“ridiculous,”
“stupid,”
“a waste of money,”
until people laughed
& suddenly it was the funniest thing he had ever seen.

My Fujifilm Instax –
mocked over & over
as pointless, silly, childish
until the room went insane over the nostalgia,
until grown adults lit up like kids again.

Then suddenly it was cool.
Then suddenly he liked it.
Then suddenly he had “always thought it was a good idea.”

He does not hate the things I love.
He hates when I find joy in things without his permission.
He hates when the room loves me without him guiding it.
He hates being wrong.
He hates me being right.

But the joke that cracked something open in my chest
was the dog water.

A bowl of water.
A nothing moment.
A tiny act of tidying.

“You gonna drink that?”
Cade said in front of his father –
humiliation delivered like a punchline.

Everyone laughed except me.

Even his dad said his ex would have smacked him.
I whispered,
“Too many witnesses.”

& I realized that was not a joke –
that was contempt.
That was disrespect disguised as humor.
That was a man showing me exactly how he sees me
when he thinks he can get away with it.

⸻

The Guests, the Chaos, the Condoms on My Diet Coke

As the night thinned out,
only one couple was left –
a man-child who kept putting condoms on everything that night
like he was fifteen
& not a father of a daughter.

Condom on my Diet Coke.
Condom on my PRNDL lever.
A whole clown show.

& still –
somehow –
Cade acted like I was the one embarrassing him
because Rowan wanted the TV on
& I dared to turn it on.

He was worried about appearances
while a grown man was putting Trojans on appliances.

Make it make sense.

⸻

The Compliments I Was Not Allowed to Enjoy

People kept complimenting my outfit.
My creativity.
My camera.
My organization.
My food.
My effort.

Every compliment made him tense.
Every kind word about me
was a reminder that he does not make me shine –
I shine despite him.

He cannot stand when I am witnessed.

He prefers when I am doubting myself,
second-guessing everything,
apologizing for existing.

Confidence threatens him.
Attention threatens him.
Joy threatens him.

& today, people saw me.
Really saw me.

He did not like it.

⸻

My Father, & the Judgment That Never Stops

He judged my father
for not drinking.
For being quiet.
For sitting alone.
For not knowing anyone.
For having PTSD.
For not wanting to socialize in a brewery
on a day full of triggers.

My father showed up.
Showed restraint.
Showed maturity.
Showed sobriety.

Cade criticized him anyway.

I asked him,
“If my dad died tomorrow, how many people in that room would cry for him?”

He said it had nothing to do with anything.

But it had everything to do with everything.

Some people are not meant to perform for crowds.
Some people have earned their right to disappear quietly.
Some people are wounded in ways Cade will never understand.

But Cade does not understand anything
he cannot absorb into his own ego.

⸻

& Then Came the Moment

At the end of the night,
my best friend texted me:
“He needs to go bye byes.”

& I did not argue.
For the first time in years,
I did not defend him.

Maybe because tonight showed me
what I have been trying not to see:

I am not matched in reciprocity.
I am monitored & belittled.

I am not supported.
I am used.

I am not respected.
I am tolerated.

I was carrying the whole damn structure
& calling it “home”
because I did not want to be the one who broke it –
because admitting the truth felt like arson –
because someone had to protect the child in the room.

But here is the truth:

It was already broken.
I am just the only one who knows where the pieces are.

& maybe today was the day
I finally stopped bleeding for someone
who laughs while I hurt.

Maybe today was the day
I realized I do not owe anyone
a performance of a family.

Maybe today was the day
I said – quietly, in my own chest –
I cannot raise my son
around places where women shrink
& men smirk.

Maybe today was the day
I finally asked myself
the only question that mattered:

What if I am allowed to want a life
where my joy is not a punchline?

xoxo ♡