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To My Ex: Someday You’ll Regret Not Choosing Your Kids
Dear Father of My Children,
I’m not angry with you; I actually feel sorry for you. You’re missing out on so much.
Last Friday, when I dropped our little ones off at your place after more than a month apart, I saw a familiar emptiness in your eyes. It’s a void I’ve tried to fill with love, both for you and for our boys. I could hear the weariness in your voice, the telltale signs of a night spent drinking too much. I knew you’d been sleeping all day, too sick to even get up, and it broke my heart to leave our sons in your care.
The smell of your hangover was overwhelming, and it brought back painful memories of weekends gone by. I smiled at you, pretending everything was okay, only asking if you felt alright. You told me you were fine, but deep down, I knew the truth: you’re not fine. You’re missing everything.
You’re meant to be a role model for our boys—someone they admire and want to emulate. But instead, they can’t rely on you. Yeah, they love you, and they might look up to you now, but you aren’t teaching them what it means to be a man.
Later that night, you texted me, admitting you were feeling awful. “I know you’re not gonna want to hear this and you’re probably going to use it against me somehow, but I’m throwing up really bad and can’t stop sweating. It’s kinda scaring me. And no, I haven’t drank.” I recognized the signs of alcohol withdrawal. This isn’t the first time, and sadly, it won’t be the last.
Honestly, I felt a sense of relief when you texted. My instincts told me our boys needed to be with me, and I was grateful you acknowledged you couldn’t care for them. Even if you can’t face why.
Anger has faded into sadness when I see you. I pity what you’re going through and the people who fall for your charm. I wish things were different, but I’ve learned to let go. I never wanted to feel that you’ve let our boys go, but truthfully, you have.
While you squander your time on empty pursuits, I’m savoring every moment with our kids. While you’re off with whoever, I’m teaching them how to use their tools. When you’re sleeping off the night, I’m tucking them into bed. You might be “dating,” but my relationships are built to last; yours are just fleeting.
You text me about the funny things they say, forgetting I’m the one who hears their laughter daily. I see their surprises and hugs, the sweetness they learned from me. You’re so wrapped up in yourself that you miss the little things. You don’t know Ethan loves being swung high, or that Connor only wants a little push. You don’t see their personalities unfolding, their interests growing. You probably won’t even be there for their games—I’ll be the one cheering them on.
When they were born, my world shifted dramatically, but yours stayed stagnant. You missed the beauty of our family and the depth of your role. You never truly wanted to be part of it, but you chose to step in. Now, you’re missing everything.
I’m not mad anymore, just sad for you because you’re missing out on all the joy. And I’m not.
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Summary
This heartfelt message reflects on the sadness of a mother witnessing her ex-partner’s struggles while recognizing the joy and fulfillment she finds in parenting. The letter serves as a reminder of the importance of family and the consequences of neglecting that bond.