I Am Livid

When the people you love are hurting and you don’t have the power to fix it

Sometimes rebuilding means standing in the storm and choosing not to quit.

Some posts are difficult to write.

This is one of them.

This week brought divorce papers, painful conversations with my children, and moments where I felt completely powerless as a father. I’m angry. I’m hurt. I’m struggling with questions I don’t have easy answers for — including questions for God.

But this is what rebuilding really looks like.

Not pretending everything is okay.

Not having all the answers.

Showing up anyway.

I’ll start with the facts.

Friday, July 22 — Divorce Papers

My ex-wife called to tell me she filed for divorce.

I knew this was coming.

There hasn’t really been a marriage to fix for a long time, even if I told myself and others otherwise.

She tried to get my pastor to serve me the paperwork. He couldn’t — he’s not a neutral third party.

I told her I’d go to the courthouse myself and look into what options were available.

I went that Friday.

I explained my situation to the clerk. She told me to stop what I was doing unless I had spoken with someone competent first.

I was taken aback.

But she was right.

I’m glad I stopped.

Legal Aid wasn’t an option. I don’t qualify. She recommended that I come back after the holiday and speak with duty counsel, who could at least help me understand my rights and what options I have moving forward.

That same day, I met up with my second daughter.

We talked. Really talked.

That’s when she told me my ex was seeing someone.

I was surprised at first.

But I could tell my daughter didn’t want to be the one to tell me.

Things at home have been getting worse.

My second daughter has been struggling with how she has been treated over the last several weeks. My heart breaks for her because, honestly, there is almost nothing I can do right now.

I don’t have a place to take my kids.

I don’t have a real job yet.

I don’t have a car.

I don’t have much of a safety net.

That is one of the hardest things for me to admit.

We decided to meet again Sunday after church.

She wanted to go to IKEA.

She wanted a cake.

I didn’t really have the money for it, but I said yes.

Because right now, time with my kids matters more than money I don’t have.

Around the same time, my oldest daughter started having her own conflicts with her mother after speaking up about how her sister was being treated.

From my perspective, it felt like the situation had become:

“If you’re not with me, you’re against me.”

Life is more complicated than that.

Friday and Saturday were busy.

I worked.

I applied for jobs.

LinkedIn. Indeed. Everywhere I could think of.

Nothing.

No calls. No opportunities.

It’s discouraging.

I know I’m a good worker. I know what I’m capable of.

I just need someone willing to give me a chance.

In the meantime, I’m doing Uber Eats to pay the bills.

The work is hard, but usually enjoyable.

It’s harder when I start questioning whether I’m using my time wisely.

But the reality is simple:

If I don’t work, I don’t pay my bills.

Sunday — IKEA

Sunday came.

It was raining, so I took the bus and train to church.

Our pastor was away, so we had a guest preacher.

Normally, I stay afterward to help out.

Not this time.

I needed to get ahead of the day.

I called my daughter after church.

She had just woken up but still wanted to go.

She said she would leave in twenty minutes.

I went to the train station.

I waited.

I called again.

No answer.

Two minutes later, my ex-wife called.

She wanted to talk about the divorce again.

She wanted to know why I didn’t sign the documents at the courthouse.

I already explained why.

My answer hadn’t changed.

That’s when I found out why my daughter didn’t answer.

Her phone had been taken.

My oldest daughter called next.

She let my second daughter use her phone.

My daughter was trying to tell her mother — who was apparently standing there listening — that she was leaving to meet me.

I asked my ex to give the phone back.

My daughter needed it to travel.

Nothing.

Just silence.

She tried to take the other phone too.

I reminded her that the phone was mine. I pay for the plan. I pay for the hardware.

That didn’t matter.

My daughter decided she would leave without it.

I gave her the bus schedule.

She left.

We met downtown.

I wanted to understand what was actually happening.

I already knew about the boyfriend.

The kids hadn’t met him yet.

But something wasn’t adding up.

They had only been together for a few months.

Why was the divorce suddenly so urgent?

My ex had talked about wanting to change her name back to her maiden name, but in Ontario, a divorce isn’t required for that. I had even sent her documentation proving it.

My daughter told me some other things that made me question what was really going on.

I’m not going to pretend I know everything.

I wasn’t in those conversations.

But something doesn’t feel right.

Then came the part that broke me.

My daughter told her mother she didn’t want to live there anymore.

She wanted to live with me.

And I had to face something painful:

I can’t take her right now.

Not because I don’t want her.

Because I’m not ready yet.

I don’t have the home.

I don’t have the stability.

I don’t have what she deserves.

What hurt even more was her mother’s response:

“Good. Me and my boyfriend will be having a new baby at some point and we need the space anyways.”

I don’t have words for that.

We still went to IKEA.

She got her cake.

Money was tight. Very tight.

But I found a way.

We took the bus back together.

I got a ride home.

She took the train the rest of the way.

I was just thankful I got to see her.

I had planned to do some maintenance on my bike that night.

I couldn’t.

I was too angry.

Too upset.

Too wound up.

I showered.

I ate something.

I played a game to try to calm down.

Sunday Night

A few hours later, my second daughter called.

She was upset.

There wasn’t much food in the house.

The fridge had been broken for a while.

There were dirty dishes that had been there since before she left for cadet camp earlier in July.

She told me that she and her sister were expected to handle everything.

Then she told me something else.

Her mother had thrown her phone into the toilet.

I was livid.

I don’t have money to replace phones because of an adult losing control.

My daughters needed food.

They wanted money to get something to eat.

I’m already close to broke.

Since school ended, I’ve lost around 60% of my income. Bad weather has made Uber Eats much harder.

They didn’t want food delivered because they were afraid it would be taken away.

So they walked.

Twenty minutes.

Sixteen and fourteen years old.

Late at night.

To Domino’s.

And I sat there knowing what was happening, but unable to fix it.

I am angry.

At my ex.

At this situation.

And if I’m being completely honest…

I’m angry at God.

He knows my heart.

He knows my thoughts.

He knows what my children have been through.

He knows they don’t deserve this.

And still, this is where we are.

“For he does not willingly bring affliction or grief to anyone… Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love.”
— Lamentations 3:32-33 (NLT)

I know this verse.

I believe this verse.

But tonight?

I’m struggling with it.

I don’t feel that compassion right now.

But I’m choosing to believe that God is still there, even when I don’t understand what He is doing.

I don’t have a perfect ending for this.

I don’t have all the answers.

But I do know this:

Anger doesn’t feed my kids.

Anger doesn’t pay my bills.

So here’s what I need.

If you know of legitimate work opportunities for someone with a G.2 Gas license, please reach out.  I need a real job so I can buy a car and get me a place with adequate space for my kids.

I need a hand up—not a handout.

I’m looking for a chance.

I show up.

I work hard.

I just need someone willing to give me the opportunity to prove it.

I’m still here.

And I’m still moving forward.