When You Divorce Your Child
Divorce isn’t always between the parents
I grew up believing there were two types of children: the ones that lived in one, happy household, and the ones that had two houses but no home.
My parents split up when I was only four years old, but the process of getting the divorce dragged on for five years.
I love my parents very much, and I know that they love me. However, they never understood the extent of their battle and that every time they tried throwing shots at each other, I was the one that got hit.
By the time I reached second grade, they grew to be so intolerant of each other that they couldn’t even be in the same room together, much less speak on the phone with each other. Instead, when things like child support or attending conferences needed to be discussed, their method of communication was to use my student planner that my teacher used every day to mark each student’s behavior.
A nasty fight broke out over who would pay for my school lunches, and their markings took entire pages of my planner, all in permanent marker. My teacher eventually stapled a note to the pages that asked them to keep their arguments out of there, so I became the vocal messenger, which consisted of either waiting a few days until I saw the other parent, or a phone call where they played, “Tell your mom” and “Tell your dad”. Of course, neither parent liked the messages and took their anger out by lecturing me on what an idiot the other parent was, and saying how much they hated them, and how they couldn’t wait until I was eighteen.
I began paying for minor things like field trips and yearbooks to avoid creating another money argument between my parents. When the other asked if they paid up, I said yes, knowing quite well the other parent didn’t even know about it.
As I grew older, my peers started to notice me wearing the same clothes twice a week. My parents became possessive over things that they bought me as if they were keeping score over who spent the most money on me. If one parent bought me a shirt, it was to be worn only at their house and brought back immediately if I went elsewhere. Since I’d spend part of the week at my mom’s and part of the week at my dad’s, I had to wear the same clothes back to the other parent’s house. My peers thought I was dirty and that I didn’t wash my clothes, and teachers grew concerned for me. I was constantly explaining why my wardrobe was similar every week.
Parent-teacher conferences were always dreaded. My parents couldn’t be in the same room with each other for thirty seconds without bickering, so I always had to make sure to set up two separate meetings.
I couldn’t show affection to one parent in front of the other without feeling guilty. During events like band concerts or graduation, whatever parent I came with was the one that I had to give the most attention to after it was over. If the other parent came to congratulate me, the other watched our interaction like a hawk. I would often encourage the parent I came with for us to leave as soon as the event was over, in order to avoid seeing the other just so I wouldn’t make either one mad, but then I had to go to bed knowing I’d inevitably hurt someone’s feelings.
Holidays and birthdays were alternated every year. It was hard not being able to celebrate with both parents at the same time, especially when one would say, “I wish you were here.” Saying it back made me feel a deep sense of betrayal, as if it meant that I didn’t want to be with the other parent.
Many couples go through divorce, but some drag a third party into it: their children.
When holidays, birthdays, and everything is split, so is the child. The parents’ broken relationship is no longer the battlefield when the child is taking all of the arrows.
Don’t divorce your child as well.
