For a long time, my life has felt like it’s been spiraling — honestly, ever since I cheated on my high school sweetheart. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve just been punishing myself ever since. Other times I wonder if I’ve simply been dealt a bad hand.

When I was 20, I finally met my biological father after a lifetime of waiting. It was supposed to be this meaningful, healing moment. Instead, I discovered a man who was unstable, drug-addicted, dishonest, and deeply damaging to the people around him. That reunion didn’t give me roots — it shook the ground under me.

Soon after, I got pregnant in a messy situation. Mark (Andy’s dad) and I tried to start fresh in North Carolina, but we were scammed out of a rental and had to crawl back to Iowa. We married. Three days later, Andy was born. We moved into the same neighborhood where I grew up. A meth lab exploded next door. Our apartment was broken into on Thanksgiving. Stability always seemed just out of reach.

For a brief stretch, things felt okay. Mark was working, we had a rental house, and I was pregnant again. Then everything shattered. He accused me of cheating (I wasn’t), and during that fight he told me he refused to “let me have his baby” and that I should abort Evan — at six months pregnant. Something inside me shut off that day. I couldn’t love him the same way after that.

After that, my life became a cycle of unstable relationships and constant scrambling to survive. I tried giving my biological father another chance. He rejected me again. I moved back in with my mom while pregnant. I had curfews at 23 years old.

Evan was born. I tried building a life with a new guy. We were evicted when he didn’t pay rent. I got pregnant with Cory. He left. I started community college. I let Mark come back into the picture for childcare support. I kept trying to build something steady out of chaos.

Cory was born. For a moment, I felt like I was finally heading in the right direction — school, housing, some stability. Then another relationship built me up and dropped me flat. Then my landlord tried to falsely claim I owed $1,800 in rent that I had already paid, and forced me out.

I moved into another apartment with three small children. Mark and I had a physical fight. He went to jail. I had a short-lived fling that wasn’t worth the stress. I made a genuine friendship and helped someone through abuse — one bright spot in a long stretch of darkness.

Then I met TJ.

At first, we connected instantly. But almost immediately, the instability started. Lies about his ex. Comparisons. Criticism about my parenting from someone who wasn’t a parent. Emotional manipulation. I started doubting myself. I withdrew from friends. I neglected school. I shrank.

I later discovered he had been looking online for other women. By then we were living somewhere I couldn’t afford alone. I felt trapped. Betrayed. I tried to move past it.

We experimented with the idea of swinging — a huge mistake. When I followed through on something we had discussed and he didn’t, it exploded. We split. Got back together. Split again. During one breakup, I leaned on Mark emotionally, which reopened old doubts about whether I had “failed” my marriage too quickly years earlier. Meanwhile, TJ was confiding in his ex. We were both carrying unresolved baggage.

We cycled through breakups and reunions. Drama spilled into his family. The last time we split, he said we would never get back together.

We did anyway.

I committed fully. I shut out every other romantic possibility. I was all in. But he wavered constantly. One day he talked marriage. The next, he questioned whether we should be together at all. He loved me. Then he didn’t know how he felt. Then he didn’t want to think about it.

For a short time, things felt calm. I told my mom I thought he might finally be “the one.” Days later, he told me he was unhappy and unsure he even wanted the relationship.

So I let him go.

When I look back over the last decade, I see chaos layered on chaos — unstable men, broken trust, financial stress, betrayal, constant emotional whiplash. And I keep asking myself: where did I truly go wrong?

I’ve been imperfect. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve acted out of anger at times. But I’ve also been honest — more honest than most people I’ve encountered. I’ve been loyal. Loving. Supportive. A good mother. A committed friend.

And yet it feels like every time I trust someone, I get stomped. Every time I open up, they walk away. The one person I thought would stand beside me through it all has stepped aside too.

All I’ve ever wanted is mutuality — friends and partners who show up the way I show up. People who don’t run when things get hard. People who don’t twist love into power.

Right now, I’m exhausted. I’m angry. I feel like I’ve spent ten years fighting to build something stable out of wreckage, only to watch it crumble again and again.

But maybe the real question isn’t what I’m here for.

Maybe it’s whether I’ve been trying to build permanence with people who were never capable of it.

I don’t have the answers yet. I just know I’m tired of the drama. Tired of shrinking. Tired of chasing people who don’t stay.

Something has to change.

This is a true account written in my own words during the time it happened. I’ve lightly edited it for clarity in the present day (2026), with minimal exclusions, while keeping the original voice and meaning intact.