My parents’ divorce is a piece of my life that I want to share with you, not because I am looking for sympathy or for advice.
But because it’s an integral part of who I have become, and I think it’s necessary to understand some of the reasons why I am the way I am.
I’m choosing to share these bits of my life with you because I want you to know. I want you to understand.
We lived in the same house for 22 years together.
Their divorce was long awaited. It should’ve happened 10 years earlier. As selfish as I feel my parents had been, staying with each other until Sophia and I were adults was the most selfless act I could imagine a parent could do for their children.
Despite being a full grown adult when it happened, the feelings were still just as hard to process as they would have been had I been a child.
The divorce process began in September of 2014, was finalized in June 2016, and sometimes it still feels like I am in the middle of it.
We are still in Year 1 in terms of being a separate family. Sophia and I made the conscious decision to separate from each other.
There are 2.1 miles in between our homes.
Sometimes it feels like there is a whole world that separates us.
Living as a family of four was a struggle. It was like four tornadoes moving in four different paths of destruction. Living as a family of four was killing us slowly.
Now we live as two sets of two.
In the three years since this started, I have never once allowed myself to have a feeling about it. I’m not condoning that. I’m not saying that’s healthy. I’m not even saying that’s a good idea. In fact, I think it’s a terrible idea. But I feel things too deeply to start to pick apart that burden at such a crucial point in my life.
I’m writing this for you today not because I need to or have to, but because I want you to know that
good things can come from broken pieces of broken homes.
The relationship I have with my dad has been tested and tried and it is stronger than ever. He knows everything about me. He listens when I have to complain. He lifts the heavy groceries when I can’t.
On the opposite end of the equation, the relationship I have with my sister has a completely different dynamic than it’s ever had. This summer, we were able to drive 627 miles in one car together and we both made it out alive, with all limbs intact, and collectively, we only suffered three panic attacks. It took us 19 years to get to that point.
My family is on a long journey of recovering our broken pieces. We have come so far and we have so far to go.