When I found out about the cheating, the person I turned to for support — emotionally raw and exposed — was my mother.

It turns out, she was the worst person I could have chosen.

She used it to her advantage. To strengthen her grip. To confirm her long-running narrative that no one could be trusted but her. That everyone else — especially women I loved — would just use and manipulate me.

And in my fragile, grieving state, I believed her.

I believed my ex had cheated because she wanted my money.
I believed she never loved me.
I believed she was malicious, calculated, cruel.
Because my mother told me so.

And that story hardened in me. It justified my shame.
It validated the betrayal.
And it robbed me of the truth.

Now, with space and years of healing, I see it differently.

I don’t think my ex was malicious.
I think she was young, confused, emotionally unprepared — just like I was.
I think she did love me, in her way. She just didn’t know how to hold it.
She never asked about my inner world. She seized up when I was vulnerable. But maybe that’s because she was never shown how to stay soft around vulnerability. She might’ve even feared it.

She hurt me — yes. But she wasn’t trying to destroy me.

And that distinction sets me free.

What hurt more than the betrayal was that the person I ran to in my lowest moment twisted the knife even deeper. And I’ve slowly come to see that this wasn’t just a one-off.

“This isn’t a moment in isolation. It feels like every moment where my vulnerability was exposed has been used to deepen the grip of control.”

That’s the hardest truth to face:
The person who was supposed to love me most — and hold me most — was the one who caused the most harm.

And I’ve spent my life avoiding that truth.

But not anymore.

On Forgiveness

I’ve forgiven my ex.

I still believe she’s a good mother. And even if she wasn’t right for me, she’s not my mother — and that’s the most important distinction of all.

It means Victor isn’t destined to repeat my story.

He may not have had a perfect childhood, but I no longer believe he’s in danger. I believe she loves him. She always wanted to be a mom. She’s soft in ways my own mother never was. She’s creative, kind, and good with people. I can see now that she didn’t cheat to hurt me — she just didn’t know how to be honest about how she felt.

She acted out of immaturity and fear.
And so did I.

Letting Go of the Guilt

I’ve recently changed our parenting arrangement so that Victor stays with his mother most of the week, and I take him every other weekend, and to football on Thursdays.

At first, it felt like failure.
But now, I see it as a gift to all of us.

Because the truth is — I wasn’t coping.
I felt exhausted, irritable, and deeply overwhelmed.
Not because I don’t love my son — but because I was trying to be everything to him from a place of depletion.

And now that I’ve stepped back, I can show up fully when I do have him.
It gives me time to heal. To breathe.
To let love into my life again — maybe even build a relationship that lasts.

And if that happens, it’ll be better for everyone.

The Most Important Part

Victor, if you ever read this, I want you to know:

Your mother and I loved each other once.
We weren’t always mature, or kind, or perfect — but we loved each other.

And you were never a mistake.

You were born from love.
You kept us together longer than we probably should have stayed — but not because you were a burden. Because we wanted to be a family.

Things didn’t work out how we’d hoped, and that’s not your fault.
It’s not even really ours.
It’s the fault of our unhealed pasts, our childhood wounds, our blind spots.

We both did the best we could with the tools we had.
And even though we hurt each other, we never stopped loving you.

Please remember that.

You’ve always been loved.
And now that I’m healing, I’m going to love you even better.