Personal Narrative Essay: Child of Divorce

As a kid, I used to have a lot of birthday parties. The corn maze, animal shelters, and indoor playgrounds housed the big events of my weekend. To someone looking in, especially to the kids attending the parties, this seems amazing. But these parties were a competition between my parents. I am a child of divorce. After the split, I lost ownership of my childhood, it was no longer my own. It was my parents’ property, a weapon against each other.

When I was younger I counted down the hours until I could return home and tell my family about my day. Walking through the door, I could drop the stresses from the day and just have fun. The older I got, the more my parents fought and that relief I once felt from coming home turned into dread. Coming home every day became a burden. The happiness I felt at school, completely drained the second I walked through the cold, lonely, beige door. Our home no longer was a place of refuge and relaxation, it was a foreign environment filled with abuse and sadness.

In an effort to accommodate both sides of my family and stop the petty competition, I lost myself. I was always on the periphery of each family, never an insider, as I shuffled between two separate worlds. Even though I didn’t have to experience the arguments firsthand anymore, I knew they were still happening, I knew my parents. My sister and I did see the benefits to their childish feud, ice cream on Fridays at dads, shopping with mom on Sunday. They spoiled us to hurt each other. While we appreciated the gifts, my sister and I knew it wasn’t necessarily for us, we weren’t the motivation behind the acts, they’re lust for the title of “best parent” was. I don’t even think either of them wanted to be the best parent, they just wanted something to hold over the other's head, a final “screw you” if you will. 

Holidays were like the golden star your teacher gives you for doing a good job on your paper for my parents. Any time their rivalry cooled off for a while, it would heat back up during times of celebration. Fights over whose turn it was to have us for Christmas were the most brutal. They both would plan things neither my sister nor I agreed to in hopes the “irreversible plans” and “no refunds” would lead them to their victory of the year. 

Individuals I cared about were never in the same room with each other, and many of them had no idea who the other was. Because I had to spend time with one family over the other, I missed out on events and celebrations from the losing side, most often the paternal side. Though we longed for the good old days where we had big family gatherings (from all sides), we reveled in the fact that we wouldn’t have to pretend to enjoy Auntie Nancy’s casseroles anymore. Avoiding the… traditional ideologies of Uncle Lefty was a nice bonus as well.

Children of divorce learn to deal with inconsistencies and instability, but by the time I was ten, I had had enough. I didn't want to have two homes, two bedrooms, two sets of clothes, two sets of toys, two sets of friends, and two sets of regulations. So I told my father one day that I didn't want to see him anymore. It was a brave but foolish act of defiance. We'll never know whether that was the right decision, but neither of my parents had the objectivity or mental stability required to find a more positive answer at the time. 

As a result, things turned out the way they did. The long-dormant power battle between my parents exploded once more, this time directed at me. I was the one who caused the squabble this time. I was blamed in one house and a victim in the other. There was no longer any need for multiple birthday celebrations. Instead, one house had stability and consistency, while the other had wrath and avoidance. Choice has repercussions, and as time passed, I lost touch with my father's family. It's difficult to maintain contact with folks who are connected to someone we've pushed away. However, at this point in my life, I had grown tired of birthdays and holidays, and weekends. I was through with feeling like the reason for the endless battle between my parents so, sadly, I had to become the bigger person. Call it “oldest child syndrome” if you will. 

My mother remarried and I met new cousins. My dad started dating and I met kids my age through their mothers. The other children involved provided a sense of comfort for my sister and I, like we had people, our age, who knew what we were going through. It was new to all of us and brought us together in the process. I was introduced to new holiday traditions and family routines, I was exposed to a whole new perspective that I never would have got to experience without my parents splitting. 

For a long time, life was still. My sister and I were done shuffling back and forth and stability was somewhat restored. Then, age started catching up to several people on my dad's side of the family and I became overwhelmed with guilt. Why hadn’t I called? How could I have avoided them? They are still my family. I realized I was feeding into the same game I despised growing up, I completely ignored my family to keep my life stable. 

I would have loved to stop by and visit, but it would not have gone over well with my mother. Instead, I went around to everyone on my own. I'd strike up a conversation and feel like an outsider. I was always the obnoxious visitor, never the friendly host. 

Although we are connected on social media, my mother is still the only one who acknowledges my existence. I still talk with my dad but rarely am allowed to visit. I make sure to call the relatives I can’t easily, physically see. It makes me upset when I learn that a family member went through town but didn't call, but I realize that they don't call because they don't know who I am. I was never a regular visitor to them. I was only around for a couple of Christmases in my life. Although they were my family, I was never one of them. They have no idea that they are simply one of several persons from four distinct families with whom I have lost contact.