Parent - Teacher Conference

I walked into the overheated middle school classroom feeling overwhelmed by the 7 teachers sitting in a circle around where I was to be seated. Trying to catch my breath from running across the campus trying to find an open door to my child’s “house” after the front entranceway was locked.

I had left my house too late to get here comfortably. Working all day while juggling my middle schooler who was home for a half day, at 10:30am, to allow for the teachers to meet with parents who they had requested to see. Fighting a sore throat and cold all day, I was also writing back and forth to my attorney, editing and commenting on an outline of content for a separation agreement, which would be sent to my husband for negotiation and hopefully, approval.

The attorney sent yet another draft 20 minutes before I should have left the house. She had written that I should reread the entire 5-page letter carefully because she had made additional changes throughout. After numerous mathematical errors on her part, I carefully checked the math on my phone calculator. Seeing the time, I knew I should be leaving. But this is so important too. And if I didn’t reply quickly, I might have lost my attorney’s attention and wound up with another 2-week delay. I desperately wanted to be done with this dreadful task that had been going on for months.

So, I took a breath and read carefully through twice, adding edits and comments. I looked at the numbers. Child support. What a ridiculous way of calculating what child support should be. In my state, you add up both incomes, and child support for one child is 17% of that number, for 2 children, 25%. Then, you calculate a pro rata for each parent based on their income divided by the total income of the two combined. In my case, my husband’s pro rata turned out to be 54% and mine 46%. So, he is expected to pay 54% of that 17% or 25%. Yes, I know, I have most likely lost you by this point. It’s taken me multiple mediation sessions and lawyer consultations to be able to understand it myself.

Let me put it in simpler terms. What family do you know that only spends 17% of their overall income on providing food, clothing and housing to one child, or 25% on two children? By these standards, parents would have the luxury of spending 83% of their income on themselves when they have one child and 75% of their income on themselves when they have two children. Are there any parents reading this who can say they’ve been able to do that?

Needless to say, looking at these numbers filled me with panic. How would I make enough money to cover all the expenses with such little assistance when we’d been barely scraping by for years fully using both our incomes?

Then, there was the wording of how to talk about sensitive issues like visiting and decision making. Trying to get the important details covered without upsetting my husband to the point where he would again refuse to sign. It had been a very painful year and a half. He moved out of our home after a 23-year marriage almost one year ago, on November 1st. And still, he has been refusing to sign a separation agreement.

The enormity of my responsibilities pushed to the forefront of my mind as I read and re-read the outline over and over again. Primary physical custody. Only I can drive my child because of my spouse’s unwillingness to follow medical advice for sleep apnea after having fallen asleep driving multiple times. Having to sell my house or buy him out when my youngest graduates high school. Assuming the majority of financial responsibility for both kids. Becoming single at the age of 52.

Praying I can keep my 3-year-old business thriving to carry me through. Praying I don’t get sick, or God forbid, die, before both my kids reach healthy adulthood and independence. Who will be my emergency contact? Who will decide what happens to me if I am medically unable? Will I grow old alone after investing myself completely to my husband who wasn’t willing to do the same for me?

All this emotion running through my body, simultaneously racing to the middle school with the clock yelling to me time is running out to get there on time. Not to mention the anxiety of what concerns this team of teachers would be presenting to me. If I am late, my husband is always early, I tried to reassure myself.

As I quickly scanned the parking lot for a spot, I noticed I didn’t see my husband’s car. Could he actually be running late too?

5 minutes until my appointment, I’m distressed to see that the main entrance is locked with a sign saying to go straight to your child’s “house”. Shit. I don’t know how to find it from out here.

I ask another parent if they know. They point me to a tall flight of stairs. I go running up, getting sweaty and out of breath, compounding my anxiety.

Door after door I try is locked. 1 minute left. I run to another and it opens. Once inside, I must run up another flight of stairs and I land at the classroom door at exactly 5:00pm. Out of breath, heart racing, cloudy-headed, and anxious.

They invite me in and there are the 7 desks with 7 teachers and 7 laptops in a circle around the two seats for parents.

And there it hits me hard. He is not here and is likely not coming. I have to do this alone. Like almost everything else this past year.

I feel like breaking down in tears.

My husband has repetitively abandoned me in our marriage in multiple ways, punctuated by the betrayal trauma he caused me by having an emotional affair while we were in marriage counseling, and then refusing to help me heal and rebuild trust. He then abandoned me in co-parenting, and has continued to do less and less as time goes on.

But not showing up for a parent teacher conference is a whole new low. I even added it to our shared google calendar, so it was right there in front of him all day today.

The surge of emotions, mental exhaustion, and anxiety swirled within me to a point where it felt like it was spilling into the space around me like an enveloping aura.

Thoughts of escape, of excusing myself, rushed through my mind as I saw myself slouching in the chair, nervously pulling the desk closer to me. Why hadn’t I brought a notebook and pen? I always take notes? What was I thinking? I wasn’t preparing for this. I was busy editing a separation agreement outline and juggling work all day, and the kid, and the head cold. Plus, fielding calls from my Mom asking how to get Alexa to find her a movie because her dementia has robbed her of that ability.

And part of me was relying on him being here. One of the few times in my week of multi-tasking beyond belief, where I could let him, maybe, take the lead, or at the very least carry the weight of the meeting with me. Like a co-parent.

But he didn’t show up. I am all alone in this, I thought. I am parenting on my own. He is taking less and less responsibility and I continue to take more and more.

I faced this realization again, as I have multiple times over the past year. And still it stings so deep. And sitting in front of these 7 faces with the empty seat next to me felt awful.

I looked to the clock, willing it to move as quickly as it had when I was racing it to get here on time.

Trying to answer their questions, to hear what they were saying. I heard, through my fog, lots of assignments they need to do this weekend.

Stay. I'll cry after. 

And so I did. I barely made it inside my car before breaking into tears. I cried in the parking lot and the whole drive home.  "This is not really…This, this, this is not really happening...you bet your life it is…You bet your life it is…" Tori Amos sang from my car speakers.