The Kids Are Alright (at least, they WILL be...)

“When mom and dad went to war the only prisoners they took were their children.” ~Pat Conroy

It’s been a crazy few weeks.  Recently I was treated to my eldest daughter being celebrated by her elementary school PTA for her outstanding art achievement and composition skills in music.  (Shut up for a minute…proud mommy, here.  Bear with me.)

I sat in the media center, glowing with pride at the beautiful, courageous little moppet before me—singing in front of a room full of strangers, nary a blush to her cheek, as she belted out her original piece about dreams and believing in oneself.

Now, to be clear, I am always astounded by what my children achieve—no so much because it surprises me, after all, they ARE spectacular human beings in their own rights—but more so by their fearlessness to reach out for what they desire and their tireless efforts to make their dreams a reality. 

(Once again, excuse me, but I did alert you to the pontificating, prideful mother moment—)

When we arrived home that evening, the youngest daughter asked me to take a picture of her with her latest drawing and post it on my social media.  It would seem that she and her sister had actually paid attention to the news reports on the plight of the stolen Nigerian girls and wanted to be photographed to join in the awareness.  In bright magenta crayon, my kindergartner had perfectly scrawled “#bringbackourgirls” and held her sign aloft, all the serious stoicism that could be mustered within her six year old, forty four pound body.

People…do I even really have to explain the weight of the pride and joy I felt in the fact that these were MY creations…?  MY offerings to this earth…?  MY gifts of hope to the next generation…?

I made THAT???  THOSE???  THEM???  They’re MINE???

If you know me at all or have followed what I’ve written or shared through this blog, you’ll probably recall that I’m going through a particularly insalubrious and bitter divorce.  My ex and I, together for twenty years, have apparently both conceded that happily ever after was not the ending for our particular story and instead are currently litigating ourselves into crappily ever after territory.

[Boo.  Bad pun is bad.]

Poet Charles Bukowski coined the perfect expression for it all: love is a dog from hell.

There are absolutely two sides to every story, but as I pan through this mire, trying desperately to secure what nuggets of wisdom and personal growth might be gleaned amidst the chaos and bitterness of this dark sludge, I realize that there will be no victor in this championship fight from the two main contenders.  No, the real winners WILL be the two miniature wonders we created in our unholy union. 

Don’t believe me?  Hear me out—

Of course, if I were to lay out my actions in all of the events of the past year, you would likely curl your lip at me and stammer bewilderedly about needing to be somewhere as you backed slowly from the room—but, conversely, if I were to delineate the timeline of what I withstood in the nineteen years prior, you would surely shake me like a ragdoll, trying to determine what the hell was wrong with me for setting women’s rights back a century (and you’d also most certainly call for the white-coats to  have me committed for single-handedly annihilating my own socio-emotional well-being over two decades…)

My ex hurt me in ways that are unfathomable, with vicious…cruel…debilitating…humiliating twists of knives I never even knew he possessed.  At the very end, in my desperation for freedom from pain, degradation, and isolation, I’m certain I left him a serious set of scars of his own. 

I have those that rally for my rights and my freedom from his monstrous choices; he has his own entourage who will sit and lick unsavory wounds with him over my incomprehensible quest for personal identity and peace.  SOMEone has to be the “bad guy,” right?



It’s sad when someone you know becomes someone you knew.



Stalemate.

But you know what I’ve uncovered from my introspection and reflections through this process?

It’s deceptively simple, really—

I don’t give a flying fuck what the court of public opinion thinks—their indictments or acquittals don’t matter. 

I don’t matter. 

My ex does not matter. 

The innocent lives in this debacle—this clown-show of fate and circumstance? 

THEY are all that matter.  

These months of musing have led me to five secret lessons that this divorce has taught me—and I’m compiling said lessons into an open letter to my daughters that I hope they discover one day…not today…but someday.

Secret Divorce Lesson Number 1:  Kiddos?  It is your fault.  But not in the way you think.  No, this didn’t happen because of you—this happened FOR you.  Mommy and Daddy together weren’t what would bring you the best life—I swear to GOD.  I know that might not make sense now, but one day you will understand that false security is no security at all.  Because of all of this, Mommy will forever be a better parent—more attentive to your needs.  More aware of your fears.  More validating of your strengths.  More encouraging of your dreams.  More supportive of your concerns.  [Daddy will, too.  Maybe.  No…I’m kidding.  That’s grown-up bitter asshole humor there.  One day, when you are one, you’ll get it.]

Secret Divorce Lesson Number 2: I said it earlier—but I’ll say it again: Mommy doesn’t matter anymore.  Neither does Daddy.  My sweet babies, never let it be said that we don’t fully realize that WE broke this great big world that we’re laying in shattered pieces at your feet like guilty, sheepish pets leave remnants of trash across a kitchen floor.  Our failings will become the kindling for you to build a funeral pyre to the end of our era and let the flames purify the grounds for the foundations of your empire.  We had our chance and we blew it—this will be your time, I promise.

Secret Divorce Lesson Number 3: Strange as this may sound, Mommy will always explain Daddy and defend Daddy to you, even when he doesn’t deserve it.  Not because he’s right…and certainly not because I agree with him.  Why?  Honestly, because if I don’t, I know from firsthand experience, that you will forever seek your approbation in the wrong people, the wrong moments, the wrong places.  You will not be able to chart the course to navigate your own waters in this life if you are forever questioning the value or the veracity of those who helmed your ship before you.  Doubt destroys and I commit to removing as much of it from your shoulders as I possibly can for the rest of my life.  In time, I can only pray that this act of faith on my part will afford you the confidence you will need to heed to your own compass and to sail confidently into a life of your own design.

Secret Divorce Lesson Number 4: As absurd as this may sound, this really does hurt me more than it hurts you.  This is not to discount your feelings—I know you are both hurting.  I see it etched in your sparkling eyes, I hear it in the dulcet tones of your tender voices…and I would give my life to take even an ounce of it away.  But I am fully confident that if anyone can create greatness from adversity, it will be you, my daughters.  I believe you will illustrate beauty with the broken crayons we are giving you right now…you will paint perfect, heart-stopping portraits from the pain that you will conquer.  You will emerge from this wreckage victorious and what you have endured will be the legacy of every life you touch…

“It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.” ― Chuck Palahniuk, Diary

Secret Divorce Lesson Number 5: All of the love songs are absolutely right—love hurts. Love will make you sick.  Love will scar you.  Love sucks.  But here’s the kicker, my darling girls—NOTHING but love will take your heart…your spirit…your soul…to the next level.  Love…when it is real and true and right…will lend you its wings and, my baby girls, even if it falters (or, sadly, drops you on your asses), it is worth sacrificing everything [except who you are] to try for it again. 

Simply put?  Without love, there wouldn’t have been you…and without you…well, there wouldn’t be anything.

P.S.  One of the most tragic detours of this acrimonious avenue my “conscious uncoupling” has brought to bear is that I do not forsee ever being able to say goodbye to your daddy’s family—my only family for two decades—the good nor the bad.  [And honestly, there were far more good there than bad.]   I suppose it is only customary that they will see things through a lens skewed by righteous indignation for their kin…for a time. 

But…as that time weathers and wears their memories, I hope…not for my benefit, but for the sake of my innocent children…that they will reevaluate the years I withstood what I could to shape and nurture those thriving, clever, creative, magnificent young people that I know that they love. 

So, my footnote to my former family…and to the world itself…? 

If and when along your journey you happen upon a beautiful girl with a broken smile…or a tender heart beneath a crisp candy-colored shell?  Look behind the shadow smiles and the bravura of their bravado.  Like you, they are hurting from wounds they never asked to create…and they are doing the very best they can with them.

Please be kind to them.  Show them that there is still plenty to believe in—in themselves, and in others, as well.  Offer them your smile.  Hold their hands.  Let words of kindness come from your lips.  The real world will reveal its gruesome truths to them soon enough…please help me to buffer them gently into the embrace of a society that will not care what they’ve endured nor recognize their triumphs amidst such chaos. 

Please be there for them when I cannot.  Please help my babies remain active curators of their own existences…I’ve given them their canvases… please provide them with any media to fill up the emptiness in their own beautiful fashion. 

Please don’t let them believe that the rancor and the vitriol of the life they are currently braving are to be their destiny, as well. 

The universe gave these children to me and I’m not certain I’m ready to give them to the world…not while there is still an ounce of fight or faith left within me. 

But I do know that I can’t do this alone. 

I need you.

They need you.

This is where it all begins.