How I Learned About Divorce
It's not great, I learned early on.
Note: Today’s post is an excerpt from my book “This is How Your Marriage Ends: A Hopeful Approach to Saving Relationships.”
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“If you want a no BS ‘this is what is happening and this is how you’re screwing it up’ book read this. I read a lot of books on relationships. This is probably the best I’ve read so far. It is written for men—but women should also read this with an open mind. This is a universal experience! Excellent book!” - Kate
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I was a four-year-old only child when I learned what divorce was.
Disclaimer: My parents divorced in 1983. I was a little kid who once cried during a tornado drill at my preschool because I thought The Wizard of Oz twister was about to swoop in and send us up to the sky. I also did inexplicable things like jam a wad of Scotch tape up one of my nostrils so far during arts and crafts that the teachers couldn’t remove it and had to call my mom to leave work and pick me up. We’re relying on THAT level of dipshittedness to recall the following events. So maybe take some of the details with a grain of salt. I’m probably getting a bunch of stuff wrong. Here’s the part I’m not getting wrong—until my own divorce thirty years later, no life event affected or shaped me as profoundly as this one.
…
Mom and Dad dropped me off at a family friend’s home on the day an Iowa divorce court judge would make a custody ruling. They were an older couple who had cool stuff like museum-quality antique miniature wooden ships with functioning masts and sails, a rare Excalibur collector car in the garage, and a little schnauzer or Scottish terrier named Colonel Klink. Presumably after the Hogan’s Heroes TV show character. I never asked.
We’ll be back to get you afterward, my parents said.
After what?
We’re going to see a judge, they said.
Why?
Because Mommy and Daddy aren’t going to live together anymore after today, and the judge is going to decide whether you will live here with Dad, or in Ohio with Mom, they said.
Why?
I didn’t understand what a custody battle was and I doubt anyone tried to explain it. I didn’t understand the real-world implications of living hundreds of miles away from one of my parents. I didn’t understand the gravity of the judge’s decision that day, though there was no choice a court official could make to fix what was broken, or right what was wrong.
After their courtroom visit, my parents returned. Both were sad and crying. I don’t think I remember seeing that before.
Why?
Dad knelt down to my eye level. The judge decided it would be best for you to live with your mom in Ohio, he said. We’ll get to be together during summers and holidays, he said. I will always be your dad and I will always love you, he said. Everything is going to be okay, he said.
Mom knelt down to my eye level. We’re moving far away to Ohio to live with your grandparents, she said. I’m so sorry, she said. Your dad will always be your dad and he will always love you, she said. I will never keep you from seeing your dad, she said. We both love you so much, she said. Everything is going to be okay, she said.
Okay. Can I go play with my toys now?
I was four. I have a hard-enough time digesting this kind of news today. I needed He-Man and Chewbacca to save the day. I needed my Garfield and E.T. stuffed animals to hug tight.
Everything is going to be okay.
I don’t remember how much time passed between learning about the judge’s decision and my first goodbye to one of my parents. It’s often not the details we remember in life’s most impactful moments. It’s the feeling that sticks.
Maybe you know this one. If you’re anything like me, your throat tightens. Almost like there’s something stuck inside. It hurts a little. And then a lot. Less of a sting and more of a swelling. You can breathe, but not as easily as you normally do. And you can hide all of that, but you can’t hide the tears. The tears give you away every time.
It was time to be strong. Like my plastic hero action figures and their animated counterparts saving the day on my Saturday morning cartoons. If I cried, then it would hurt the parent I was saying bye to even more. And if I cried, it would hurt the parent who was driving me far away from the other.
If I cried, I was hurting Mom and Dad no matter what.
Years later, I’d develop the ability to hold it down—down in my throat and stomach where no one can see. But on that day—still only four and without practice—I hadn’t mastered pretending yet.
I waved to Dad for as long as I could still see him. He got smaller in the rear window as we drove toward a new home and new life far away.
Maybe I broke a little on the inside after that first goodbye to my father, or maybe it was a time or two later. These were my first encounters with invisible pain.
…
This unusual living arrangement defined my childhood. Growing up with hundreds of miles between me and one of my parents at any given time. Hardly any of the other kids I knew had divorced parents. The one or two who did lived a short drive away from their other parent so everyone saw each other often.
Divorce is hard, I thought many times through the years. I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life, but the one thing I’m certain of is that I’m NEVER going to get divorced.
Because I knew what was at stake. There’s nothing as uncomfortable as that lump in your throat. And I’m no quitter.
You know how people would ask you what you wanted to be when you grew up? I never had a definitive answer other than “I know what I don’t want to be—a failure. The one thing I am sure of is that I never want to get divorced.”
Oops.
Matthew Fray is the author of “This is How Your Marriage Ends: A Hopeful Approach to Saving Relationships”, a relationship coach, and formerly the blogger at Must Be This Tall To Ride.
P.S. - I know these things can present really small to some of you in your busy lives and marriages/partnerships. But that’s exactly why developing mindfulness and communication habits around these domestic scenarios is so critical to maintaining peaceful, loving relationships. If you have trust erosion, and/or pain points and frustrations around things like this at home, consider working with me as your relationship coach to develop these skills and habits. This stuff matters. Book your next appointment here. - MF