When Arthur went to jail, I went through a period of time where I lived a bit wild. Not in the sense that I was partying, neglecting my daughter or anything like that. I was hurt, angry, and seeking a lot of attention. I dated a variety of men, usually very short term. I always tried to put out this persona of “I’m not trying to be exclusive, or tie anyone down”, I wanted to seem like I was just having fun and living life. It was one of those times in life where your social media posts can’t begin to capture the truth of your life if anyone takes them at face value, although I feel sure that those who had been in my shoes before could probably see right through me.

I met Jared maybe a couple of months after Arthur went to jail. His mom was my neighbor, and she really wanted us to meet. When he walked down to my house, I was curious where this cute guy had been hiding at. Tall, messy hair, dressed so cute, kind of shy and sweet, he was adorable. We spent quite a bit of time together, only on one occasion we were intimate. Jared had struggled with addiction in the past and I got the sense that he still was on some level. Once I got that perception I began to lose interest. I despised addiction because of my childhood. I could only see it from one view and that was the perspective of a child who had been through abuse and did without a lot, which impacted my entire life. I remember there was a day that I wasn’t feeling well, Jared showed up at my doorstep and I was so hateful to him. I was done with him, and he had no clue. He was just bringing me a 7up, because that’s what you do when you care about someone and they don’t feel well, you check on them and try to help them feel better. Jared didn’t come back to my house after that. (That is an extremely hard memory to write, you’ll understand why later).

I continued on the next few weeks being the woman that I had become then. I had let the hurt and bitterness consume me. When it came to decision making, I was pretty selfish, and if I felt a certain way then it must be right, because feelings and how I felt were paramount to me. But all of this came to a very abrupt halt one day during my lunch break. I will never forget talking to my sister on the phone and expressing these symptoms I was having. She asked if I was pregnant to which I was like, no way, nope. She told me to just go buy a test and once I saw that it was negative it wouldn’t be in my mind at all. So, I did. I bought the test, took the test out of the box and put it in my purse, to take into the office with me, leaving the box in the car. I took the test and two little pink lines almost immediately showed up. It caught me so off guard that I initially thought it was negative. Then I realized, wait, this might be positive. I hurried out to my car where the packaging insert confirmed that yes, I in fact had a positive pregnancy test.

Shocked is a good word, although let’s be real, why was I shocked? I had sex and that’s how you get pregnant! I called my sister crying; I just couldn’t believe it. I felt like I let my daughter down, and here I am single and now pregnant. My office already thought I was terrible, and, in their eyes, I had become a dishonorable and disgraceful woman once my divorce happened (because my manager was very good friends with my ex-husband and his family). I was just so humiliated and ashamed but also so very scared. Abortion was never an option for me; I never considered it. I called my other sister who I’m very close to and told her. I left work early that day visibly upset.

As a side note: Ironically, Arthur had sent my coworker a letter from jail begging for her help in getting me back, that she brought to the office that day to show me. She called me worried that it was letter that had me so upset. I told her the truth because one lesson hard learned in my life is that being an open book to your coworkers isn’t always a good thing (funny saying that as I’m writing a blog post about it lol!).

So, life went on and I was pregnant. I wasn’t going to tell Jared initially. I thought he was into drugs, and my child didn’t need that. I thought I had all the answers to life myself and didn’t help from anyone, I knew best; but over time I began to question my decision to keep her to myself. I knew Jared was the father because I was able to pin it down to the date with the help of my obgyn. So, one evening I called one of his family members to see how he was doing, and she said he was doing great and had a great job. She had no idea that I was pregnant, I had moved during this time, so I didn’t see his family anymore or him. I thought, okay I’m going to tell him.

I was about seven months pregnant when I called him. At first, I just awkwardly made small talk and then he asked why I was calling him out of the blue. I told him that I was pregnant, and she was his. I can’t imagine how he felt in that moment. I didn’t have a plan or any specific idea of what I wanted from Jared, I just wanted him to know in case he wanted to be involved. He had his reservations, but he came to see me I think the very next day. He stayed and visited for a while and was honestly much calmer and nicer than I deserved. It wasn’t long before Jared moved in and was helping me with everything, even finances. He was there when our daughter was born, and we continued living together as a couple.

True to my nature though, I was still that same woman. My house was my house. I called all the shots. I didn’t make him feel like it was his home, I didn’t even love him. I thought I did a little but not enough to care about him and his feelings. I viewed him as I viewed all men. Men didn’t care about me, and I had to remain with the upper hand. I was pretty cold and demanding.

Jared did go to a suboxone clinic to help with his addiction. By all indications he was doing well. However, I still held that judgement and was just waiting for the mess up that always comes and ruins everything; and one day it did. In a big way. I didn’t offer him a conversation or an opportunity for explanation, I told him to get his things and get out of my house. We broke up and he moved out that day. I didn’t really speak to him again much after that, I didn’t offer visitation, and he didn’t try to fight his way in. I knew he wouldn’t because I was a force to be reckoned with in that time. I didn’t care to do whatever I had to do to make things difficult if I thought it was best.

I’m going to end this chapter here, although I will say that this story isn’t over yet. I knew it would be difficult to put these experiences into words, which is one reason I avoided it for a very long time. I’m not the same woman as I was then and my choices in the past carry a heavy penance. I hope that through these posts someone will find direction and perhaps even escape the path that I was on for so long because there is a much better way. I know that without my testimony I probably wouldn’t be able to have what I have with the Lord today. Although these memories burden my heart almost daily, the ache of it reminds me of how far I have come in my journey and walk with the Lord. One thing I have learned is that being broken is a privilege and a blessing. A contrite heart is heart that is being refined.

For all these things hath mine hand made, and all these things have been, saith the Lord: and to him will I look, even to him that is poor, and of a contrite spirit, and trembleth at my words.

Isaiah 66:2 (Geneva Bible)