I sit here by the large window of the barn and watch as raindrops slowly crawl down the glass, leaving a trail. I saw a fox trot across the back yard this morning, and now the water is coming down harder, making that tapping noise on the siding.

I wish I were experiencing this in my own home, but my children are here, so here I am. That’s one of the efforts I’ve made as I move on from my old life, keeping my children in it. That’s the thing about motherhood: it doesn’t care where you live, or who you’re with, your children will always need you.

The more I look at myself, the more I realize how much like my father I am; I’ve mirrored many of his life choices. But then a sinking feeling begins, and I question whether I’ve mirrored all of his life choices, and how does that affect my kids? I know how it affected me.

The only thing to do is keep looking inward. Maybe I can break the cycle by acknowledging my flaws and learning to evolve. I accepted so much of what I share with him, but this I won’t.

I won’t allow myself to be overcome and forget my children. I’ll never give them up to avoid repercussions. I will never forsake them to keep my codependence, nor will I have any codependence. If I am to become better than those who made me, I have to first recognize what makes me like them.

So here I am, in a house that hasn’t felt like home in years, breaking the cycle.