17 weeks & 5 days

I find myself crying in the mirror.

Not just crying—shaking. My whole body trembling as if my own skin can’t hold the weight of what I’m feeling.

The noises coming from my mouth aren’t even words anymore—they’re shrieks. Ugly, raw, guttural sounds I can’t control. My chest heaves, my throat burns, and my face twists into something I don’t even recognize.

The water streaming down my face isn’t gentle. It’s hot, angry, relentless. It burns my eyes, my cheeks, and still it won’t stop.

I look at my reflection and I don’t see myself. I see someone broken. Someone trying so hard to hold it together while everything around her falls apart.

I am NOT okay.

I keep trying to convince myself I’m strong enough, that I’ll get through this, that I can handle it all. But in that moment—in front of that mirror—I feel the truth: I am unraveling.

17 Weeks, 5 Days, and Watching Him Spiral

Today I wrote to his mother. I was desperate for someone—anyone—to understand what I’m going through. Her response? “Stop writing me.”

I am 17 weeks and 5 days pregnant, and I have never felt more alone.

My boyfriend—no, the father of my child—kicked me out of his house. He has admitted to sleeping with other women, around fifteen of them. He has been cheating on me for months. And now that I’m out of his life physically, he doesn’t even try to hide it anymore—posting other women like trophies, like reminders that I’m no longer part of his world.

I’ve blocked him on social media. I’ve blocked his number. I thought that would give me some peace. Instead, he sends his friends to contact me, to “check on me,” to see if I’ll answer through someone else. He’s even blowing up my girlfriends’ phones, trying to hang out with them. It’s weird. It’s manipulative. It’s sickening.

He tells my girlfriends he’s so happy to be a father. That he wants this baby. That I’m the one acting erratic.

Meanwhile, I sit here, pregnant, watching him spiral publicly in ways I can’t even wrap my head around. Another day, another post from M—some new spectacle for everyone to see. One minute it’s a Russian hooker on his lap with him tagging songs like “I Want to Love You” and “Treat You Right.” The next it’s a Black woman in a bikini with “Mr. Brightside” playing over it.

And I’m supposed to believe this man is stable?
I’m supposed to believe this man wants to be a father?

Clearly, he is manic. Clearly, he is a drug addict. Clearly, he is not okay. His posts are insane, but his actions are even worse.

I can’t stand to watch it anymore.
It’s like watching someone self‑destruct while you’re carrying the very life they created inside you.

And yet, here I am—still standing, still carrying, still trying to protect a baby who deserves better than this chaos.