December 27th 2023.
When I first found out I was going to be a father, I was terrified. Growing up in a Caribbean culture, it was impressed upon me to be responsible and make sure I didn’t get a girl pregnant. Yet that was the very thing I had gone and done, aged 22.
But upon arriving at the hospital for his birth and holding him for the first time, something changed. I was overwhelmed with emotion. My son, precious and beautiful, was born – and I was a father.
Things had not been good with my son’s mother before the birth. We had been in a relationship that only lasted three months. I was ignored and shut out during her pregnancy, despite buying things and trying to spend time with her.
As she watched me break down in tears in the hospital holding my son, she appeared to soften, and I thought things might get better – though they never did.
My son is my twin; I feel like I may as well have given birth to him myself. Like me he is long-limbed and slim, with my skin tone.
By the time my son rejected me, I had only just started being allowed to have him for overnight visits, every other Friday. Previously, his mother refused to let him stay with me, meaning I had drop him back off within a few hours.
On those precious Friday afternoons, however, I would pick him up from school and not have to return him home until the next day. We would build Lego, go to the trampoline park, and the playground, and I’d take him out with other children. My son taught me so much – every time I saw him I felt like I was looking at a reflection of myself.
But last year, during a period of ill mental health for me, my son refused to come with me when I came to pick him up. I was devastated. I have no idea why he suddenly became afraid. Friends who watched my relationship with my child grow saw how much we loved one another. I truly don’t know what changed.
His mother told me he just didn’t want to be around me, and that he cried when he was meant to come and see me. I’m supposed to accept her words, but this is the same person who chose to not put me on the birth certificate as she felt I was not ‘responsible enough or deserving’.
Prior to this, we disagreed on certain topics when it came to raising our child. I had suggested that when our boy should meet my side of the family in Trinidad. She vehemently disagreed and believed I was going to take him away and never come back.
That argument, which took place around 14 months after his birth, escalated when she threatened me with going through a contact centre, which would further restrict the already limited time I had with him. In a contact centre, you have supervised visits with your child during a specific time slot. Even the thought of this broke my heart.
His mother believed the authorities would side with her and I would then be viewed as a danger to my child. For my part, I believed her threats were more about reinforcing a power dynamic.
When I last tried to pick up my boy from his mother’s house, he refused to come with me. He cried and didn’t even want to hug me. My son looked as if he was petrified, while his mother smirked. She knew the damage she had done and her mission was complete: He now saw me as a stranger; someone he wanted nothing to do with.
My heart broke realising just how much harm had been caused to our relationship. I thought a moment like this would never happen, but it did. From then on, I knew I had to walk away to protect my own mental health. It was the culmination of six years of pain, where I was never guaranteed access to my son and could only see him on the odd occasions it suited his mother.
I was terrified when I first found out I was going to be a father. Growing up in a Caribbean culture, I was taught to be responsible and make sure I didn’t get a girl pregnant. Yet, that was the very thing I had gone and done, aged 22.
Despite my fear, something changed when I held my son for the first time. I was overwhelmed with emotion and realised that I was a father. I was responsible for this precious and beautiful baby.
My relationship with my son’s mother was not great before the birth. We had only been together for three months and I felt like I was being ignored and shut out. Even as I broke down in tears in the hospital holding my son, she appeared to soften. I believed that things would improve between us, but sadly that never happened.
My son and I are like twins. We are both long-limbed and slim, with the same skin tone. We have a strong bond, something that I cherish.
By the time my son rejected me, I had only just started being allowed to have him for overnight visits every other Friday. We would build Lego, go to the trampoline park and the playground, and I’d take him out with other children. I learnt so much from him and looked forward to our time together.
It was heartbreaking when my son refused to come with me when I tried to pick him up. His mother told me he was scared and refused to hug me. I don’t know what caused his sudden fear, but I know it was the culmination of six years of pain, where I was never guaranteed access to my son and could only see him on the odd occasions it suited his mother.
My son’s mother had told me that it would be easier if I wasn’t a part of my son’s life, and that I was a danger to him. I knew this was more about reinforcing a power dynamic than anything else. Her threats that I would go through a contact centre, which would restrict the time I had with him, broke my heart.
I had to walk away to protect my own mental health. It was a difficult decision, but it had to be done. I will never forget the relationship I had with my son and the memories that we made.
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