My Son in Journal

is my world, now. He wasn’t before, but he is now. And I’m actually okay with that. I’m quite frankly in love with that. I really love the fact that I can think about HIM and HIS needs, what HE wants, and it actually gives me the excuse to be brave.
I don’t know if I have low self esteem or lack of confidence or just don’t respect myself enough. But I could never do the things I’m doing now, before my son. I could never bring myself to tell my mom what I really thought even though I’d thought about it and cried about it and tried Lord only knows how many times. Even now that I have done it; after the fact I am scared and terrified of the ramifications. But I am in resolution to pursue the truth for my son. I can see clearly the effects of not doing this will have on him, and I cannot allow it.
He has given me the motivation to do so many things that I would not have done before. The motivation to examine my own uncomfortable truths. The ones I hid away a long time ago (some not so long ago) hoping never to see them again. I have a lot to answer for. It’s not fun. It’s terribly lonely and arduous. It’s hard work. I was a coward for hiding from it then, and it shows how cheap of a person I am that it took having a baby to motivate me to get my shit together.
That’s okay though, I guess. As long as I do get it together and am there for my son. I’ll drag the people around me up with me if I have to. I’ll drag them along until they find their feet and walk alongside me. Or I’ll drag them until they fight back and want to go their own way. It’s up to them. They can choose for themselves.