People often talk about how hard co-parenting is.
What they don't talk about is how hard it is to co-parent with someone who isn't actually parenting at all.
There is a unique exhaustion that comes from being the parent who carries everything while the other parent simply exists on the sidelines. Not because they can't help. Because they choose not to.
It's not even about the money anymore.
Sure, the sports fees add up. The equipment. The travel. The fuel. The hotel rooms. The registration fees. The team fundraising. The endless expenses that come with raising kids who are involved, active, and chasing their dreams.
But money isn't what hurts the most.
What hurts is watching your child sit by the window waiting for a parent who doesn't show up.
What hurts is hearing the disappointment in their voice when plans get cancelled at the last minute.
What hurts is watching them check their phone, hoping for a text, hoping for a call, hoping for some sign that they matter enough for someone to make an effort.
And then watching them pretend it doesn't bother them when it does.
Meanwhile, the parent who isn't there complains about paying ten dollars a month to watch sporting events online.
Ten dollars.
While the parent doing the actual work is paying for registration fees, equipment, gas, hotels, meals on the road, fundraising commitments, and countless hours of volunteering.
One parent gets to sit back and complain about the cost of watching.
The other parent is carrying the cost of making it happen.
One parent gets to wake up, look at their bank account, and decide what they want for themselves.
The other parent wakes up and calculates what the kids need first.
Every single time.
I often think about how different the responsibilities are.
One parent can look at the money they have left and think, "What do I want to do this month?"
The other parent looks at the money left and thinks, "What do the kids need this month?"
Because being a parent isn't something you turn on and off depending on your budget, your mood, or your convenience.
Children don't stop needing shoes because you're short on cash.
They don't stop needing support because you're tired.
They don't stop needing a parent because it's inconvenient.
The truth is, our children didn't ask to be here.
They didn't choose their parents.
They didn't choose divorce.
They didn't choose distance.
They didn't choose any of it.
What they deserve are parents who show up.
Parents who support them.
Parents who make them feel important.
Parents who understand that childhood is short.
There will come a day when the games are over.
The tournaments will end.
The practices will stop.
The kids will grow up.
And when that day comes, they won't remember who complained about a ten-dollar subscription fee.
They'll remember who was there.
They'll remember who drove them to practice.
Who sat in the stands.
Who packed the lunches.
Who sold the raffle tickets.
Who paid the registration fees.
Who cheered the loudest.
Who stayed.
What makes this even harder is that society still expects the involved parent to protect the relationship with the uninvolved parent.
We're expected to encourage phone calls.
We're expected to stay positive.
We're expected to build up someone who consistently lets our children down.
We're expected to smile through our frustration and say, "Maybe next time."
Not because they've earned it.
But because our children deserve every opportunity to have a healthy relationship with both parents.
And so we do it.
We swallow our anger.
We bite our tongue.
We clean up the emotional messes.
We comfort the disappointed kids.
We explain away broken promises.
We keep hoping for better.
Not for us.
For them.
Because that's what parenting is.
It's showing up even when it's unfair.
It's carrying burdens you never asked for.
It's sacrificing things you want so your children can have things they need.
It's putting them first, over and over again, even when nobody notices.
Some days I'm angry about the unfairness of it all.
Some days I'm exhausted by it.
Some days I wonder what it would feel like to have the luxury of putting myself first.
But then I look at my children.
And I remember that while one parent may be missing moments, I get to be part of every one of them.
I get the hugs after the wins.
The conversations after the losses.
The road trips.
The memories.
The inside jokes.
The late-night talks.
The privilege of watching them grow.
And while the weight of carrying it all is heavy, I would choose that weight every single time over being the parent who chose not to carry it at all.
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