“I’m afraid. This is the hardest and saddest thing I’ve ever written—an article about my parent’s divorce.
I worry my parents will be hurt, even punish me for “airing our laundry in public.” I worry my dad will stop seeing me, if he knows just how scared I get about his volatile temper and harsh swear words. I worry he’ll think I’m taking my mom’s side and throw me out saying, “You’re just like your mother!”
I love my dad SO much, I couldn’t imagine life without him. I wouldn’t want to ever hurt his feelings. But sometimes his behavior is erratic, especially when he thinks he’s not good enough, or someone else is better than he. It’s especially bad when that someone else is my mom.
Unfortunately, what affects my mom also affects me and my sister. It hurts a lot to be in the crossfire of a gun duel between two people I love. Some of the schrapnel falls out on me and my sister. I’ve told my dad my feelings and asked him to stop. But it seems he can’t. The anger is so big inside him and it has to ooze out somewhere. I don’t think he wants to hurt us on purpose, but it does hurt.
I can’t make my parents happy again
I see my mom wrapping her life around my sister and me, and I love the attention and protection I feel. But I also see my mom in pain, and I wish I could make it all okay for her. I wash the dishes when I’m not asked. I keep my room clean and get good grades. I call her at 8 every night I’m with my dad, as we agreed. But it doesn’t seem to make her happier. I love the few spurts of life and love that come out when we share an inside joke, make fun of ourselves and our flaws and spontaneously hug and kiss. Why can’t that happen more often? I’m at a loss for how to make my parents happy again.
When my parents first got divorced seven years ago, I thought it was my fault. I tried closing up the real me so I wouldn’t make any more demands on them than they already have from finances and obligations. It is exhausting. I can’t even get angry. I occasionally take it out on my younger sister. Or I talk to my pets, because I know they’ll never get mad or judge me. Or I write in my journal for no one to see.
I’m glad no one can see the tear stains on my journal pages. I’ve cried so many nights, that now the divorce is like a thick numb white scar. It doesn’t hurt so much anymore. It’s just ugly to look at.
As I write this in longhand at my mom’s house, I know I will have to wait until next weekend to get the computer at my Dad’s house to print it out. There is so much pressure to think ahead, and I can’t stand my parents yelling at me for forgetting things at the other’s house. So I just carry everything in my two-ton backpack.
After seven years, at least my parents don’t fight so much. But it is still a struggle to organize my backpack, supplies, toys, clothes and make sure my pets at the other parent’s house are okay. There’s the traveling, dinners out and late pick-ups at school. My friends still don’t know where to get a hold of me at any given time. My parents still quibble about money, late support checks, pick-up and drop-off times, and who pays certain doctor bills. Rules are different in each house, my dad being more lenient and sometimes playing Santa Claus to ease his guilt with us. Things are more spare at my mom’s house in terms of money, but she always has creative solutions.
Holidays are the worst of all. When I’m with my dad, I’m lonesome and worrying about my mom. When Dad drops me off at my mom’s, I can’t seem to release my arms from around his neck, ’cause I know I’ll miss him so much. This constant flip-flop of emotions is so exhausting, sometimes I’d rather not feel at all. There must be an easier way, I keep thinking. I also miss the family I usually saw at Thanksgiving—my mom’s sisters and brothers, my grandparents. I’ll never get that warm feeling back.
One of the good things that came out of this divorce is that my dad and I really got to know and understand each other. When my parents were married, he worked six days a week and was exhausted on Sunday. Now he’s made a big effort and sees me and my sister every other weekend and holidays.
I have listed a few places where kids can go to talk to other kids. I think kids helping kids is the best kind of help, healing the giver as well as the receiver. (Mom and Dad, I hope you are not too mad at me. I hope you still love me after reading this article. I do love you both, you know.)”