Raising a Son, Not a Monster

The Night It All Snapped

Two nights ago, Jonny woke up sick—pale, puking, and clearly not himself. I knew it was nerves, and it was understandable; he was preparing for his first trip back to New York since everything went down. His first time seeing his father since I fought for custody and won.

 After he settled back into bed, I asked if he felt well enough to go to school in the morning. He looked exhausted and unsure, so I told him to just let me know, and if he needed the day off, I’d handle it. He ended up resting most of the day.

The Rule That Broke the Peace

Later, after school hours had passed, Jonny came out and told me he was going to his girlfriend’s mother’s house. I asked him why, and he simply said, "Because I want to." I asked him to stay home because I wanted to spend some time with him too before he left. That’s when he started getting nasty saying he just wanted to see his girlfriend and didn’t want to spend time with me. Then he stormed off to his room. It was only after that moment that it hit me—he hadn’t gone to school that day. No school, no outings. That’s always been the rule. So, I texted him, because he was already mad at me for saying he had to be home by 8, whether he liked it or not. The second he read that message—telling him he wasn’t going anywhere—he lost it. Started flipping out, saying I was only doing this because he said he didn’t want to spend time with me, that I was trying to control him and get what I wanted. He didn’t even give me the chance to finish what I had to say. I never said his girlfriend couldn’t come over—only that he couldn’t go out. I even reminded him that Chad would be pissed if I let him go anywhere after not going to school. But he wasn’t hearing any of it—he swore Chad would’ve let him. So, I stopped engaging and texted him, gave him the full story, and asked him to handle it before it became World War Three. And he tried—he told Jonny the same thing I did, and added that if it were him home, Diane wouldn’t have been allowed over either. Said he should count himself lucky it was me and not him.

The Explosion I Didn't See Coming

It wasn’t until after she left that everything fully exploded.

I went back to his room to see how the packing was going and to talk to him about what had happened earlier—no yelling, no accusations—just to address how he spoke to me. I thought maybe we could clear the air before his trip, get an apology, and be done with it and enjoy the rest of the night. Instead, he went nuclear. It was an instant reaction the second I brought it up. No pause, he didn’t even take breath—he just unleashed everything he had at me. He accused me of manipulating the situation so I wouldn’t feel guilty if he stayed in New York. He called me a manipulative bitch—spat it at me like poison. Told me he hated me from the bottom of his heart and wanted nothing to do with me. He said that I didn’t act like a real mom, that I was never there for him, and that he couldn’t talk to me without me blowing up. It wasn’t a conversation. It was an ambush. He came for the jugular, and he ripped it wide open.

The Words That Cut Deeper Than Any Fight

And the truth? I’m not mad at him for saying how he feels—I want him to talk to me. But this isn’t that. He doesn’t talk—he attacks. He accuses. He twists my past and throws it at me like a weapon. That’s what hits me the hardest. Not the volume. Not the outburst. It’s the disrespect in how he speaks to me. It’s what he says—and how easily he says it—that floors me.

He makes me out to be this manipulative, selfish mother who only does things for control. Like I haven’t been here, showing up every single day since he came to live with me. Like I haven’t fought for him, changed for him, built an entirely different life to give him what he asked for.

Yes, I have a past. Yes, I made mistakes. But I’m not that woman anymore, and I’ve proven that in every way I can. So, when he ignores all of that—everything I’ve done, everything I’ve become—and throws accusations at me like I’m still the woman I used to be? That’s what breaks me. That’s what I don’t know how to come back from.

Because no matter how much I’ve grown, it feels like I’m still being held hostage by a version of myself I no longer recognize.

The Breaking Point I Didn't Show

And after each one of his blow-ups, I walked away—twice I had to hold myself together when all I wanted was to break down and melt into a puddle in the middle of the floor. But instead, I tried to brush it off. Crack light jokes, played the whole thing down like it didn’t shatter me. But it did. It always does. And the worst part? This isn’t the first time he’s said things like that. And each time he says he hates me or threatens not to come back, another piece of me breaks off. And I know what it feels like to say those words—because I said those things to Alyssa once. But I meant them. The difference is, I don’t have a relationship with her. I cut her off completely, and I don’t regret it. She hurt me, and I meant every word. I truly wanted nothing to do with her. That’s what scares me most—because I don’t want that to be me and Jonny. I don’t want to be someone he walks away from and never looks back. So, when I hear those same words come from my son? It stops time. 

I swore I’d never let that become our story.

I'll Never Stop Fighting for Him

I’ve done everything that boy has ever asked of me. He asked me to get sober—I didn’t hesitate. He asked to live with me—I fought for him. So, when he brings up my past or accuses me of manipulation, it rips me apart. And it makes me wonder—what really happened in that house with his father all those years? What did he go through alone that he’s now unleashing on me? Because it’s not just rebellion I see. It’s trauma. It's pain. And it makes me furious with myself for leaving him there. Furious at his father for failing him after promising me he'd be okay.

A Mirror I Didnt Want To See

I’ve worked so damn hard to build something safe and stable for him—a life with structure, with love, with presence. And yet, it felt like none of it mattered in that moment. Like everything I’ve done was invisible. Like all he could see was the ghost of who I used to be. That is what breaks me.

Because this? This isn’t normal teenage attitude. This is a child screaming for help the only way he knows how—through anger, through cruelty, through emotional warfare. It pisses me off, not just as his mother, but as someone who sees herself in him. I know that kind of pain. I was that kid once too.

Holding The Line Even When It Hurts

And even in the middle of all that heartbreak, I still have to be the adult. I still have to hold the line. And my Jonny does not like being told no. Does not like being wrong. And boundaries? To him, I’m not allowed to have any. He pushes, digs, and uses anything he can to wear me down or hurt me into submission.

That night, he even called his grandmother Brenda—his father’s mother—and screamed the same hateful things to her that he screamed at me. I stood firm. I said he wasn’t going to New York. I wasn't going to let him use my trauma against me. Someone had to teach him that his horrible behaviors have consequences.

Surrendering A Small Battle To Win the War for My Son

But when the house finally went quiet, I was left to make this decision alone. I sat outside crying, breaking. I didn’t want to take away his time with his family. I didn’t want to be the one that robbed him of something he might need. But I also couldn’t reward what he did. I wrestled with it for hours. And in the end, I let him go—not because he deserved it, but because it was already paid for. People had made arrangements. And I didn’t want his father, or his family think I was doing it to keep him from them. But he was not off the hook.

Excuses Only Raise Abusers

The next morning, I called Brenda to let her know what had actually happened the night before. Also to let her know that I was going to let him go see them. But if this happens again that he won't be. I gave them the courtesy of information. Something they never gave to me. I also made it clear that this was not up for discussion, and I wasn’t asking for their opinions or their permission. I will not tolerate the same disrespect that she had ever.

And her response? “That’s just how teenagers are. You have to let it roll off you.”

Roll off me?! I wanted to scream. Who in their right mind hears that a child called their mother a manipulative bitch for setting a boundary and says, “just let it roll off you”? That’s not typical behavior. That’s emotional abuse.

The Makings of Monsters

And in that moment, everything clicked. Brenda wasn’t just dismissing Jonny’s behavior—she was showing me how her sons became who they are. She raised them without accountability. Always with an excuse. “He’s just mad.” “He’s just sad.” Never once saying: this is wrong. And look what came of it—grown men who abuse women, disrespect their own mother, break laws, and still expect her to take them in with open arms. And she does. Every single time.

I still have nightmares about what I went through with Jonny’s father. And every time Jonny flies off the handle like that, I freeze. Not just because of the hurt i feel from his words, but because all I can see is Brad. It's in his body language, in his tone. It's even in the burning stare he had while he was yelling that he wanted nothing to do with me. That scares me more than anything. Because Jonny deserves better. I know he can be better. I've seen it when I watch him with Diane. But how can I keep the poison that is his father from getting to him? If that’s all their feeding him.

Rewritting His Success With Their Poison

I’m terrified about what this trip might undo. That family doesn’t believe in consequences. It's too much work to discipline. They believe in control. In manipulation. Letting it just roll of you as Brenda put it. They make me the enemy trying to break the cycle. And Jonny—he’s still a kid. Impressionable. Wants desperately for his father's approval. I worry what more they could possibly say about me. Bad mouthing his mother to him. Lies about my past. It's wrong and disgusting if you ask me.   And I’ve spent a year fighting to repair the damage they left behind. Trying to get him to see the truth for himself. But I can only fight so hard from this side. I always tell him the truth. Even about mine and his fathers past but I always leave my personal feelings out and stick to facts. I would never bad mouth him or his family to Jonny ever. That’s his dad and I want him ti want to have a relationship with him. But I can only do so much, set boundaries, I can pour everything I have into helping him grow—but if the other side is just undoing it all the second I’m not looking, what hope do I have? That’s the fear I carry. That’s the weight that sat heavy on my chest as I made the decision to let him go.

Facing Whats Hard Is How We Break The Cycle

But when he comes back, it's not going to be swept under the rug like he may think. He’s grounded. He’s going to sit down and talk through every inch of this with me. He’s going to watch the footage of how he acted. He’s going to see my face in that moment. Then we’re going to talk—really talk—about why he said what he said, and why he thought it was okay to explode over being told no.

And then? Two weeks of poop duty. No gym. No fishing. No freedom. Just accountability.

For All The Mothers Behind The Monsters They've Raised

And if you’re a Brenda—if you think this is just how teenagers are—I need you to hear me clearly: you are the problem. That mindset is exactly why there are grown men walking around acting like entitled, disrespectful little assholes—degrading women, abusing them, and blaming everyone but themselves. You’re not helping. You’re creating monsters. You are the reason women like me fall for little boys dressed up like men and end up stuck in toxic, abusive relationships—relationships where we’re made out to be the villain for asking them to take responsibility for their own damn actions. You should be ashamed of yourselves—ashamed of your excuses, your lack of backbone, your refusal to set boundaries or enforce consequences because it's "too hard" or you "just don’t feel like dealing with it." Every mistake they make, every cruel word they throw, every time they lash out and hurt someone—that’s on you. And I hope the weight of it sits in your gut and rots. 

And over my dead body will I let my son become one of them.