Are You the Child of Divorce?

I’m the child of divorce. I’ll answer my own question. Yes. I worked harder to save my marriage because I was a child of divorce. I didn’t want to repeat history.

I met my husband while in college.

He repeated a concern his mother had.

“My mom’s worried that you’re from divorced parents,” he said.

I was shocked. My shock was followed by outrage, and not because she was judging me for being from divorced parents. But because of her own family of origin.

“You’re kidding, right?” I said. “Your mother is from two parents who haven’t been together in years. Is she raising the red flag about me? Why? Because my parents ultimately got a piece of paper saying they were divorced instead of simply living apart?”

My then-boyfriend looked confused.

“Look,” I said. “Your mother’s parents may have never officially divorced but they were estranged, and their story is worse than my parents story.”

It was my indoctrination into the judgment of divorce.

I’d never experienced it before.

On the contrary, people praised my mom. She was ahead of her time. She gave us an incredible life. We may have had to work and carry our weight but we lived as two parent households did.

We did not do without.

She never made us feel slighted, or different because our father was absent.

People also praised us.

They would comment on what great children Rosemarie raised. They would say how hard-working we were. All in all, my mother only felt respected, and so did her children.

It’s incredible I guess.

I was 20 years old before I felt judged as a child of divorce.

Today it’s less common to hear people make judgments.

Time has changed.

The world has evolved. Divorce has become common. The only comments I hear are from unhappily married people who fear divorce. They want to leave but they convince themselves it’s bad for the children.

Let me be clear about one thing.

Both as the child of divorce, and a woman who divorced a man.

Divorce isn’t the problem.

People behaving badly is the problem.

Despite never feeling slighted, or embarrassed, or different as the child of divorce…I didn’t want it for my children.

Unfortunately, that immense desire to protect my children from divorce hurt them more. It would have been healthier for me to get out when things got worse.

I should’ve protected them from all of those displays of unhappy and unhealthy love. I should’ve left before the ugly words, the anger, the raised voices.

I was wise enough to do this when they were younger.

I made the mistake of going back.

I don’t think I’m in the minority.

I believe many children of divorce work even harder to keep their marriages together. They stay longer than they should. They put more effort into the relationship than their spouse.

They attempt to move marital mountains.

They slide into misery.

They accept it.

It’s the price we pay for not repeating history.

And that man that I married…the one whose mother feared that I came from divorce…he gave up long before I did. He refused to work on our marriage.

He refused to continue in counseling.

I continued in alone.

One day I was at my marriage counselor’s office. I was beating myself up for the mistakes that I’ve made. I hated myself for what my choices had done to my children.

“Colleen,” said my marriage counselor who’s a psychologist. “You’ve always told me that you felt that the way you were raised made you into the person that you are. You felt it was meant to be your path in life. Did you ever consider that this was meant to be your children’s path in life?”

And just like that I was freed.

He was right.

I didn’t feel sorry for myself.

I never cared that I was the child of divorce.

Did I have moments of missing my father? Yes. Absolutely. But I didn’t dwell in self-pity. On the contrary, it made me grateful that I was surrounded by the love of my mother, siblings, and extended family.

It turns out this was less about my children, and more about me.

I was the one with the hang up of repeating history.

I convinced myself it was about my kids. It was, and it wasn’t. Of course, no parent wants divorce for their children. But at a certain point it became more about a childhood promise I’d made to myself.

I wouldn’t repeat history.

I would not get divorced.

I held onto that with a fierce grip. My own family of origin impacted the decisions I needed to make for my children. It clouded my decision to move forward with a divorce sooner than I did.

My husband and I were no longer demonstrating love.

Certainly not the kind of love I wished my children would find in someone one day. We were failing them. A piece of paper, a separation, and a divorce were healthier for them.

Once I got out of my own way, I knew this.

Because I’ve been on both sides of divorce.

It made me who I am.

I have no regrets about that. It made me understand what is healthy and unhealthy. It made me recognize why sacrificing all of ourselves isn’t heroic. It’s tragic.

I saw an old friend recently.

She’s convinced herself she needs to stay in an unhappy marriage.

“Are you happier?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Even with everything he put you through?”

“Yes.”

I knew what she was asking me. She wants out. She was trying to peek beneath the surface. Because it takes strength. It takes gumption. It takes nerve. It takes guts to leave a failing marriage.

It’s far easier to stay.

Even when she’s wanted to leave for years.

People stay in marriages when it’s a terrible example of love. They make excuses. They rationalize. They say it’s for the family. They say it’s for financial reasons.

All of those reasons are laced with fear.

Unhealthy love is an unhealthy life. Unhappiness is unhappiness. But it takes tremendous strength to get out of what we have come to accept as acceptable.

I was at my weakest when I settled for those excuses.

I was at my strongest when I rejected them.

But as a child of divorce I had made myself a promise.

One I’m glad I refused to keep.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.