When Doing Everything Right Still Isn’t Enough Trying to rebuild my life… while facing the fear that it still might not be enough.
March 4th was my third child’s birthday.
I didn’t see her.
I knew I probably wouldn’t. Schedules didn’t line up—mine, theirs, life, whatever excuse you want to call it. So we pushed it to the weekend. I told myself that was fine. I told myself it still counted.
It didn’t happen.
I bought her a gift anyway. It’s sitting in my room right now. Still wrapped. I haven’t even moved it. Every time I look at it, it feels like proof of something I can’t fix.
That’s the part that sticks.
Not just missing the day—but not knowing what she thinks about it. She turned eight. She’s not a baby anymore. She notices things. She connects dots.
And I can’t shake the thought that maybe, in her head, I just didn’t show up.
Like I didn’t care enough to be there.
And that thought makes me sick.
The truth is, I don’t feel like I have any real control over seeing my kids right now.
Plans get made. Then they disappear. Sometimes last minute. Sometimes without a word. And I’m left trying to figure out what changed after it’s already over.
I keep telling myself not to put anything on the kids. This isn’t their fault. They shouldn’t have to carry any of this.
But that doesn’t make it hurt less.
Most days, it feels like I’m just waiting. Waiting for a text. Waiting for a call. Waiting for someone else to decide if I get to be a father that day.
That’s what it feels like.
Like I don’t even get to choose that anymore.
And yeah… there are moments where I just want to stop trying.
Last week, I thought I had something.
I was supposed to see three of my four kids. We were going to go downtown, grab food, actually celebrate my daughter’s birthday. Nothing big. Just time. Just being there.
I hadn’t seen them since before Christmas.
Saturday morning came. I was exhausted—I’d worked late the night before—but I didn’t care. I was ready. I was looking forward to it more than I want to admit.
I called to make sure everything was good.
That’s when I found out it wasn’t happening.
No heads up. No real explanation. Just… not happening.
I tried calling back. Texting. Anything.
Nothing.
Just silence.
And just like that, it was gone.
I sat there staring at my phone like an idiot, like if I waited long enough something would change.
It didn’t.
I wasn’t even crying. I couldn’t. It was like something just shut off.
I’ve got a lot of anger in me right now.
I can feel it building every time something like this happens. It doesn’t explode—it just stacks. Quiet. Heavy. Waiting.
Part of me wants to justify it. Call it righteous. Like I’ve earned the right to feel this way.
Maybe I have.
But I also know how that story ends.
I’ve told myself that before.
And it didn’t lead anywhere good.
I’m tired.
Not just physically. I’m tired of fighting something I can’t seem to win.
And if I’m being real, that’s what this is.
It’s not just missed time.
It’s not just canceled plans.
It’s the feeling that I can do everything I’m supposed to do now… and it still won’t be enough.
That’s what scares me.
Because I know where that thought can take me.
I’ve been there before.
That belief—that I wasn’t enough—almost destroyed me a few years ago. It twisted everything. It made bad decisions feel justified. It pulled me further and further away from the man I was supposed to be.
And now, even after everything… even after trying to rebuild…
That voice is still there.
Quieter maybe. But still there.
You messed this up too badly.
You don’t get to fix it.
You don’t get them back like that.
In therapy, we talk about custody. About trying to get something formal in place.
But even there, I’ve been told the truth—doing the right things now doesn’t guarantee anything.
I get that.
But it hits deeper than just paperwork.
Because it feeds that same question I can’t get away from:
What if I do everything right… and it still isn’t enough?
And that’s where this stops being about schedules.
Because now it’s not just about my kids.
Now it’s about forgiveness.
I say I believe God forgives me.
I do believe it.
At least… I think I do.
But I don’t know what to do with that when real life doesn’t line up with it.
When people still don’t trust you.
When relationships don’t come back.
When doors stay shut no matter how hard you knock.
It messes with you.
Because if I’m really forgiven… why does it still feel like I’m paying for it?
There’s a verse that’s been stuck in my head:
“Am I now trying to win the approval of human beings, or of God?” Galatians 1:10 (my paraphrase)
I don’t like that question.
Because the honest answer is—I want both.
I want God to forgive me.
But I also want people to look at me and see something different.
I want things to be restored. I want things to feel normal again.
And when that doesn’t happen, it shakes me more than I want to admit.
So this is where I’m at.
Stuck in the middle of it.
Trying to be better.
Trying to show up.
Trying to rebuild something that doesn’t always feel like it wants me back.
And I don’t have a clean answer.
I don’t know how long this takes.
I don’t know what “enough” even looks like.
I don’t know if the people I’ve hurt will ever see me differently.
But I do know this:
I’m not going back.
Not to who I was.
Not to the choices that got me here.
Not to the version of me that thought giving up was easier than changing.
I don’t know if it’s enough.
But I’m still here.
And right now… that’s all I’ve got.
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