My kids and I are in our hotel bed the night before Christmas. The day was calm, and the night was peaceful. My mind wandered about how things would be if I had my own? My own job. My own stable income. My own apartment is our house for my children and me. Then I snapped back into reality and reminded myself that it is all on the way! 

Christmas Eve 2021

When I left my hometown a week ago with my son and daughter, I promised not to go back to live. I spent one week in my auntie’s trailer praying and not losing hope. My kids and I slept on a cot in a small walk-in closet-like room surrounded by our belongings. I would curl my body into an S position for my son to sleep behind my daughter and me to nurse throughout the night. 

early morning selfie

I swatted away mosquitos and fanned my children with a piece of cardboard to ease their night sweats. For the past two months, my son has been trying to adjust to every hotel room and routine we created to survive. 

This Christmas will be different. I am separated from my husband of eight years and have two children. I have a better outlook on what happiness means to our children and me. Last year, if someone had told me that it would be my last Christmas as a mother of one in the house, we shared I would have cherished it a little more. I would have loved myself more and kissed my husband with more passion and intensity.

We are just two weeks away from Christmas. I have adapted to the hotel living with my two kids just fine. Money is tight. My faith is bigger than a mustard seed. I’ve learned how I had to gently break away from having expectations of others in all ways. What I have learned about myself during this separation that’s leading to a divorce is that I must practice my love language on myself. I cannot be sitting in my room feeling guilty and having the blues about anything.