I'm a Child of Divorce Even When If Does Not Feel Like It
When your parents divorce when you’re an adult, it doesn’t feel like a “broken family.” Or at least how I feel most often. You think of a “broken home,” “broken family” or “child of divorce” as terms for kids; the parents separate and their living situation breaks. This is partly why I’ve also felt like my sister (among some other important reasons) had a different divorce experience than me. I was 18 and in college when I learned it was likely, 19 when my parents officially separated; and 24 when the divorce was final. My sister was 16, 17, and 22 at those same times and potentially even younger for the first. Her home broke more than mine did. I had dorm rooms, apartments, and my own life I could return to or focus on.
But my family did break. I lie to myself that it didn’t because like a bowl that breaks fairly clean in two, you can put it together and make a bowl that works pretty damn well. Its an acceptable, honest, and knowing lie and better than going without the “bowl”. The lie isn’t that I have one family unit, i.e. the same bowl. It’s more about the personal impact. The lie or the bowl—I promise this is the last time I will use the metaphor)—is that the difference doesn’t have impacts and costs.
I’ve been thinking about these impacts and costs a bit more lately. Specifically how many things double and also become individual. The doubling is obvious. My dad lives in the UP of Michigan; my mom lives in Ohio. It’s easy for me to visit both but not at the same time and not for the same things. Someone gets Christmas; someone gets Thanksgiving. Someone hears I hit a deer first because there are separate calls. Since 2020 I have been in the same place with them on approximately three occasions. The origins of this post are actually probably one of these, when they both came to help me after gallbladder surgery in February. It felt so normal and so right to have them at my apartment it hurts a little to think about. I was under no illusions that they were going to get back together and I don’t want them to. But it was a glimpse into the possibility of another life, with parents that are together. Every other time, my life with each of my parents are different worlds. My interactions are singular and individual. I visit one at time, plan things with one at a time, tell them at life events one at a time, have birthday calls (mine and theirs) one at a time. An added factor is that my sister is 1. Busier than I am, 2. A different personality than me, and, most relevantly, 3. Has a very different relationship with my dad than i do. So when I am planning things with parents, I rarely do it with her.
For four days in February, it was different. I watched a movie with both parents. We went to dinner together. They planned my medication schedule together. I did not know I could miss or want that at 32, but I did and do.
I don’t worry about this nor do I see it as a problem. Mostly, this is because it is what it is. It is my life and the alternative is not having a relationship with one or both parents. It is really worth the effort and there’s a lot to love. Its not a unique situation and I am fortunate to still have both parents. However, just because it is not a problem—much less one that can or should be solved—doesn’t mean it is as good. The second impetus for this post is a book I finished this weekend called Beach Read by Emily Henry. Its great and I recommend it, but if you were listing 10 things most people would take away from it, the value of intact families would not be one of them. The connection is that the protagonist January, a 30-ish young professional (living in NW Michigan no less) recently lost her father and spends a decent amount of the book thinking about her parents’ married relationship. Her parents were married until her fathers death despite paternal infidelity and he has lots of complex emotions regarding her parents (amplified by spending the summer in her father’s “love shack”) but one of those is wistfulness for her parents marriage. I was never wistful for my parents to be together. I perhaps never until this winter thought about something I was missing beyond the practicalities, such as simplifying Christmas. But even acknowledging the impossibility, I do find myself wistful for parents married to each other. For parents living their lives together who have their own lives but also with whom I interact as a pair. I find it hard to explain. But I think it would be really nice to hear about a trip they were going on together. Or hearing they saw my sister’s new house together. Or planning a birthday party together. Generally modeling a love and happiness together I am seeking in my own life.
I don’t know that this is a “useful” line of thinking to be on. My parents are divorced and letting a romance novel dictate your feelings is a fraught road in many directions. But my therapist has encouraged me to not think of thoughts and feelings as useful or not and acknowledge that they just “are.” Maybe it also is a missing piece in navigating some of the complications of divorced parents that have also been on mind. I think it is possible that by treating my “bowl” (sorry, I couldn’t stay away from the metaphor) as great and normal and essentially the same bowl yet knowing it was not, I was setting myself up for frustration. My parents are on two sperate paths and after 14 years, are in very different personal places. My dad lives in a rural area where she works herself very hard, but largely in isolation with a few friends but no coworkers and no family aside from my sister. My mom on the other hand has a serious significant other and sees his family far more than she sees me. The former situation raises thoughts of “what do we owe our parents emotionally and with our time?” and the latter thoughts of “how much will you or should you integrate with a parent’s new relationships?” Neither situation nor their accompanying thoughts have singular answers, though if you know any, I am all ears. I do think however knowing that part of me has a preferred (if impossible) answer has been worth dwelling on on a Sunday afternoon.