Chaos Came, But I Stayed Grounded
Life has a funny way of reminding you that your past isn’t gone — it’s just waiting for the perfect stage to make a cameo. For me, that stage was the fall festival hosted at my son’s school last weekend.
I didn’t expect to see her there. One of the women who dated my son’s father while I was pregnant, fully aware of my situation, and who spent weeks watching my social media during the last part of my pregnancy and the first couple months of motherhood. She and her equally miserable friends, women pushing 30 while I was freshly 25, stalked my social media like it was their morning devotional. And for what? She already had the man. It amazes me that women will do something desperate, something shameful, and then obsess over the woman they wronged like they need permission, justification, or a roadmap to sleep at night.
Seeing her felt like a jolt — a mix of disbelief, anger, and that deep nervous-system reaction you don’t realize you’ve been carrying until it hits. As small as Atlanta is, I never thought I’d run into anyone that man dealt with during and after my pregnancy. Hell, even after our official breakup. Our worlds shouldn’t overlap; the caliber of woman I am — the spaces I occupy — it’s just not that kind of crowd. You won’t find me on the scene, in the clubs, hotel hookups with my baby in tow, or chasing drama. That’s not my life. That’s why I’ve managed to successfully avoid these women all these years. I don’t orbit chaos; I create stability. I build life. I move forward. To see anyone at all — but at my son’s school of all places — was ironic. Anything pertaining to motherhood and my son has always been my safe space. That school is my territory, my peace. I’m there weekly — volunteering, on a first-name basis with the staff, fully hands-on, making my presence known. Jayce’s school life is supposed to feel sacred, calm, and grounding. So to run into someone who brought chaos and trauma into my life? Insanity.
Seeing her triggered a flood of emotions I hadn’t realized were still there. I smiled. I said hello. I kept my composure. She looked down, awkward, shameful, like she wanted to avoid eye contact entirely and hoped we wouldn’t even speak. And honestly, I hope she felt it — that tiny, unavoidable sting of being exposed. Some might wonder why I even spoke after five years. Why not just look down and speed past her? Because while I wish her nothing but a miserable life and should’ve called her a desperate bitch, this was still a kids’ space. There’s a time and a place. This is my territory. She had no child there, just dating a man with a kid, a pattern I’ve seen before, but I digress. If she’s showing up to this school with that child, there’s always a chance I might see her again at another event. I refuse to let anyone make me uncomfortable in my own territory. I’m not ducking or dodging anyone in halls I walk proudly every week. To let her see me sweat would have been foolish; she has no claim here. I do. So I spoke, held my head high, and I hope being faced with me — calm, grounded, unbothered — forced her to sit with that shame for the rest of the event.
She triggered my nervous system in a way I hadn’t expected. It was like a smell, a song, a flashback — something that just unlocks a memory you’ve spent years trying to bury. I got home and briefly cried, not out of sadness, but to process it all. Angry tears, really. Angry at my son’s father all over again for putting me in a position where this chaos became part of my life. Once I processed it, I actually chuckled — because, as ironic and comical as it is, this same woman actually did apologize to me shortly after my son’s birth, but could barely look me in the eyes all these years later. She texted me, a long paragraph offering words of encouragement, advice, empathy, acknowledging manipulation. She even went as far as sharing pieces of her (past) trauma— being pregnant, suffering a miscarriage, and getting an STD from her ex cheating. I guess she wanted to be relatable. At the time, given that every woman he dealt with during my pregnancy made it their mission to embarrass and taunt me publicly, it felt genuine… ish. Looking back, her apology was a total cop-out. She only reached out after realizing she wasn’t the “main character” in this circus — there were other women in the mix. She thought she had won but when the spotlight shifted and she realized she wasn’t the only desperate player in this game? She crumbled. Too weak to compete with other grown women, yet bold enough to target a pregnant and postpartum woman. She had experienced heartbreak, trauma, loss — and still chose to cause the same pain she had felt. That’s not strength. That’s desperation.
Years ago, this interaction would’ve sent me spiraling. Yes, it triggered me. Yes, I went home and cried — because crying is processing, not weakness. But once the emotion passed, I felt something unexpected: clarity. That I won.
Not because my life is perfect. Not because I’ve magically healed from everything that happened. But because life has shown me who I am today versus who I was back then. I’m stable. I’m grounded. I’m a mother first, raising a son who is happy, thriving, and confident in a world I’m helping him navigate. I’m building a company, creating work I’m proud of, and pursuing the things that matter to me — on my terms. I’m surrounded by friends who uplift me and a community that respects my presence and my peace. I’ve grown. I’ve created joy, stability, and meaning out of chaos. Life has reflected that back to me tenfold.
Atlanta might be small, but my life, my growth, my peace — all of it is massive. Seeing her last weekend reminded me not just of how far I’ve come from a situation designed to break me, but also of the life I’ve built in spite of it. I’m thriving, I’m calm, I’m in control, and I’m unapologetically present in every space I occupy — from my son’s school to my home to my work to my heart.
And in that moment, I realized again: I won. Not just over her. Not just over the past. But over every circumstance, every heartbreak, every fear, every moment that tried to shake me. That’s the real victory — my life, fully lived, fully mine, untouchable.