I'm Just the Girl He Knocked Up

This is my first post since my breakup. I call it a divorce, but whatever.

I call it that because I don't think I've ever been so enmeshed in a relationship like I was with this one. I loved that man with everything in me. I loved his quiet, reflective soul. I loved his hair, his eyes, his arms, the little bump on his nose, the way his dimples graced his cheeks when he smiled, and the way he smelled. I used to tell him that if God were to place all the physical traits I love into one person, it'd be him. Because I could stare at him from across the room and feel like I'd hit the jackpot. Every. Damn. Day.

Looking back, that relationship was a mess. He was an alcoholic. I was a late-stage codependent (thanks to never really understanding my attachment style before diving into another long-term relationship). We constantly looked at each other and knew we were polar opposites, but we fought hard to make it work. It just didn't.

When each of my birthdays came around, I would ask for compliments, because I never received any from him. To this day, I couldn't tell you what he really loved about me. All I knew was that I was his baby mama. And I held on so tightly to the belief that it was all I'd ever be. That's my fault, because I let that belief lead me to rely upon his words to know that I was enough.

This story I've told myself is so important to share- I know I'm not alone. But actually, I took on this story before my ex. Enter: Vulnerable truth.

When I was dating my ex-husband (different guy), we faced an unplanned pregnancy. We were driving across the country to live in California, amidst a break from college and the desire to learn a little more about life on the West Coast. In a Tucson, Arizona hotel room, I took a pregnancy test and got a big fat positive.

We hit the road that same morning for our final stretch to San Clemente, California, and had a long discussion about what to do next. Wedding plans weren't something we had in mind with our cross-country adventure. But he looked at me in the car and said, "I want to marry you anyway. Let's go ahead and get married. I'm not going to change how I feel about you."

And we did. In a small ceremony in the beginning of September, we eloped. Two days later, I miscarried. A month later, he asked for an annulment. We stuck it out and decided that we didn't want to separate, and that he was just confused and uncertain about his commitment, but that he knew he didn't want to let me go. This type of separation request would be a recurring theme in our marriage.

A couple years later, he asked for a divorce. Again, he was going through a brief "freak out" period, where he'd say things like, "I don't want to lose you. I just think we shouldn't be married on paper. I'll still take care of you. Can we be together, just not married?" When I consulted a friend of ours during this time, he said, "I remember talking with him on the balcony of a friend's house back in California, and he did say he was just 'trying to do the right thing' at the time."

My life, from that point forward, took on the story that I was just the girl he got pregnant.

Fast forward to our divorce. I attempted to move on incredibly fast. I searched for validation in men from the local bars. I searched for love outside myself because I was incapable of seeing I needed to love myself before finding any partner- I had no clue. I was just terrified that I was unlovable now that I was a mother with stretch marks on her stomach, a job at a non-profit that certainly wasn't going to pay my bills, and now I had "baggage." I was just a girl who made up a lie about "putting myself out there" while at the heart of it, I was searching for a man to show me I was lovable and attractive.

Six months later, I faced another unplanned pregnancy. (You'd think I had a ton of partners, but I actually only had my first love, my ex-husband, and Abby's father, by that time).

This is the pregnancy with my recent ex. I found that I was going it alone, and unsure of his intentions for seeing through fatherhood and any kind of partnership. I waited for him to come around, not sure who else he was seeing and what else he needed to do before he would find me valuable and worth his time. After all, I was just the girl he knocked up.

When we decided to do life together when I was about to pop at 36 weeks pregnant, I was thrilled. He chose me, finally. I loved him more intensely than I'd loved anyone. But I never let go of that story that I was just the girl who got knocked up. It was reinforced- solidified, even- in this new circumstance.

And for the longest time, that story was my identity. I let it explain away why he never complimented me. I let it explain why he waited so long to choose us, and why I had to do my pregnancy alone. I let it serve as the reason he drank. The reason he didn't value my time. The reason I felt like a permanent babysitter, while he made plans without telling me what his plans were, or when he'd make it back. The reason he didn't think to go on dates, or the reason he expected me to cook and clean, even when I was working. The reason he could love on the kids so easily, but forget to hug me. I used that story to explain why he never made eye contact when he was out in public with me. I thought he was ashamed. I thought he was stuck with this girl who wasn't his ideal partner. I was the girl he got knocked up, and now he was doing "the right thing." I cannot describe the level of insecurity that surrounded our relationship.

That's undoubtedly my role in our demise. I don't think he could have won that war in my mind. I don't know that he could have taken any actions that would shift what I came to believe about myself. It was my responsibility to rewrite that story, not his, and I'm only just now learning how to do that.

My self worth went into the gutter. He had beautiful, creative ideas. I tried to run with them and make him proud of me. He was a great father. I tried to revel in the traditions he created for the girls, and express gratitude for him being the father I never had. He was a hard worker. I tried to tell myself that he was a simple man, who wanted to show his love through his dedication to providing for all of us.

But I never let go of that story. It ate me alive.

The truth is: no one told me that's what I was. I told myself that. No one told me I had no value. I told myself that. I've had to evaluate this horrible story I've told myself for more than a decade, only to realize no one ever told me I was just the "girl they knocked up."

So what's the truth? I've had to rewrite that story. And it's healing everything down to the core of my being. The truth is, I'm an incredible woman who happened to face two unplanned pregnancies. Both of them required me to become a stronger version of myself, and both of them made me more capable of showing love, humility, sacrifice, and perseverance. I'm a courageous woman who embraced adversity head-on, and said, "Come with me. We can do this. I will love you so hard. Just watch."

I'm the woman who opened her heart to love, who just didn't have the same level of commitment from her counterparts. But I'm that woman. I didn't give up. I still won't give up. I continue to strive for healthy, whole-hearted love, and won't settle until it's pouring out of me. They've gone their own way. I'm still the woman who said "I can do this. I can make it."

That's my story. And THANK GOD I have finally understood how to let go of that horrible voice. It nearly killed me.