Showing UP for Sophia: Money Matters

We had high hopes for Sophia and toasted to treasures beyond those of monetary value. But things changed. Now I’m high and dry and we’re breaking up, trying to figure out a way to parent her without being together. People do it every day, sharing their skills of parenting without pride. Can we?

In two weeks John wants to leave and take her with him to Illinois, the thought of which causes me distress. Sharing helps me process this new reality, and quite frankly, it leaves a record of what I know to be true. I do my best to share my truths, my perspectives, as I can only assume why others do what they do and choose not to look like an ass in doing so. Been there, done plenty of that.

Case in point, today’s entry. John has defended that I assumed his actions or lack thereof. Perhaps. Or perhaps life is the one who said, “Nah, people aren’t here for that, they’re here for this.”

I tried to play it safe, but facts have a way of turning my stories into fairy-tales.

Awww… y’all are getting along? That’s great.

What happens when you don’t?

How do you deal when shit gets real?

Not good. 

After learning that taxes had been filed without conversation about where the return would be deposited, I flipped out. I didn’t recognize myself. No one did. I lost control and let five-year old Marcy take over. Feeling betrayed and powerless, she acted out what was going on within. Her lungs exhaled screams, her feet stomped out hurt, and she raged on what was in reach — an over-sized chair sacrificed itself for her to feel seen. No one listened, even though they stood by and heard. 

Hours later, after much meditation, water consumption, and a talk with a favorite friend, I centered myself. I understood why I did what I did but knew I wasn’t in the right mindset to communicate with John. Instead, I apologized to Sophia who witnessed it all.

I had her sit with me and asked how she felt about what she saw that morning.

“Mommy roared, it scared me. Why didn’t you breathe when you were mad?"

Why didn’t I indeed? Why didn’t I even think about breathing? Why did my brain automatically tell me to scream, shout, and cry? Why did I feel like running out of the house, but instead fled to the bedroom? Why did I lose my shit in front of my three-year old? What kind of a parent am I?

A parent who’s hurt. A parent who felt betrayed by the other parent, the father I thought he was, the one I expected him to be. Further confirmation that expectations lead to disappointment.

I told her I was sorry and explained how I was upset with Big Guy, but not with her. That I was wrong for blowing UP instead of calming down. I looked her in the eyes and promised to do better. But first…

Luckily, I had scheduled an appointment weeks prior to talk to someone who would listen and understand. Even luckier, I decided to confirm said appointment the day before, even though I debated canceling it because I thought John and I were on the same page about our next steps, I was wrong.

I needed to know my rights, and protect Sophia’s. She’s a California resident, born and raised. I’ve been her primary caregiver since she was born and when I was laid off December 2017, John and I decided it was the right time for me to build my business. Within months my full-time job became caretaker of Sophia. It wasn’t anticipated. John and I both hoped my mother and daughters would help, and they did at first, but Sophia is spirited. Not only did she become too much for my mother to handle, but my daughters had work and school schedules that made it near impossible to spare time. I was hurt at first, but remembered who decided to have Sophia, her parents. It was our responsibility to find a balance for me to work and for her to be socialized, but we never did.

I attempted to work from home when I could, but the older Sophia got, the harder it became. She couldn’t stand to see me on the computer and forget talking on the phone. She’d scream and fuss until the person on the other line gave up or I did. Sophia demanded attention at all times. Not only did I become her biggest fan but she’s called me her best friend. She is everything to me. My work has transformed because of her influence. As she has grown, I’ve grown. But at first I regressed, a lot.

I was diagnosed with postpartum depression when Sophia was six-weeks old. She wouldn’t nurse, cried all night, and I was alone. Bills quickly accumulated and John had to return to work ten days after she was born. The first year was the toughest. No her second, especially during potty-training when I had to get over my shit for her to feel comfortable to poop in the toilet. Talk about growing up. No doubt I acted like a toddler during that time. Then again, her third year has been trying.

Over the past six months, I’ve witnessed myself in her and realized the only reason why Sophia “acted like that” was because she was modeling Mommy. So I took accountability, communicated my intentions and made changes to my life. Those changes have affected every area since. I’m usually a professional when it comes to the art of adapting, but I didn’t plan on being a single mother at 44. Especially a single mother who hasn’t had steady income for the past two years but has thousands in debt and no savings. How am I supposed to secure an apartment by the time Sophia returns in April?

My appointment with the legal aid answered all of my questions and settled most of my doubts. She asked about my relationship with John, our beginning, middle and end. Was Sophia planned? Who watched her the most? Why was her father leaving the state knowing her mother didn’t have an income to support her, if only to provide Sophia with child support? California stops at nothing at getting funds from deadbeat parents and warned me that unless we agreed to joint custody, someone would be paying someone. She then wondered if John signed a form to determine paternity, advising that a signed copy and an agreement between us would prevent a lot of paperwork and headaches. Otherwise my immediate options were limited, I’d either have to determine paternity and notarize an agreement or file a summons to keep Sophia in the state.

The latter was not an option. I don’t want to keep her away from her father, or her mother. I also can’t afford to keep her with the fiances I currently have. So after much thought and finding the required paternity form, I talked to John and we came to an agreement, one that feels fair. Because money matters, especially as a single parent.

So while we may not be toasting to Sophia’s next steps, we’re taking them with her. We’re seeing the value our presence has made in her life, individually and collectively, and want to share the wealth to build her foundation, starting with a trip to San Diego Superior Court to file our agreement — which includes splitting the tax return.