A Chapter from the Story of My Life

            This past Valentine’s Day, the papers came through and my parents became officially divorced. This is somewhat of a tradition now, considering that my grandparents were officially divorced on Valentine’s Day as well. Needless to say, I am not a huge fan of this so-called day of love.

            Backing up a little bit, my family life as a child was rarely easy, with the tension between Mommy and Daddy overpowering every outing, public event, and even time spent at home. Maybe “normal” families have these problems occasionally  but it was clear for the first decade of my life that my family was barely hanging on by a thread, and sooner or later, we would all crumble.

            So on my twelfth birthday (a surprise party thrown for me at the Gilded Otter), the tension between my parents must have reached its boiling point, because when we walked out to the parking lot to leave, my dad informed my younger sister, my mom, and I that he would be renting an apartment from now on, starting that night. I’m not sure which was more startling, the fact that my dad was living in a sketchy apartment out in the middle-of-nowhere-Gardiner, or that he decided to do so without letting any of us know, ON MY BIRTHDAY. No amount of ice cream cake made that birthday feel better. None.

            My sister and I, hoping not to lose our father altogether, agreed to visitations with him on the weekends, sleeping over in his one-room apartment. “This sucks” would be an understatement.

            My mom, as she had already been for my entire life, became the primary caretaker of my sister and I, given that my dad was in no place to do so, and had never been the father he should have been before. (The deal with my dad is a long story for another day.)

            After being separated for about a year and a half, my mom, feeling like a failure at marriage, and my father, dependent and needy, decided to reconcile. This was around the same time that my grandmother (mom's mom) passed away very suddenly, and she was a big part of our lives, and a huge role model for me.This was extremely confusing for me, as my parents, whom I had watched and felt the hatred between them all my life, wanted to try to get back together and just fix everything. I knew that this would not work out; it felt like I was watching a weather report, knowing and waiting for a hurricane to strike, yet my family did not see it this way, forcing me into exile. My mom, whom I was always very close to, responded irrationally to my opposing opinion, and my dad and Casey followed suit.

            As predicted, the reconciliation did not work out, and my parents separated again, soon filing for divorce. Thus, the Valentine’s Day tradition.

            Putting the past behind us, I am once again very close with my mom; she truly dedicates her very being to the happiness and security of Casey (my little sister) and I. Yet, to this day, I have been in therapy, trying to deal with the impacts of my parents’ separation, the specific relationship with my father, the remains of our complex family dynamic, and other sources of anxiety and stress in my own life that have spiraled from the divorce.

            About two years ago, my father commenced a relationship with my soon-to-be-step-mom, Darcie. She is pretty nice, but I am not thrilled about the idea of having a new step-monster. She has two gorgeous daughters, twins, each currently in their freshmen year of college. I can’t even begin to explain how intimidated I feel about standing next to these two Abercrombie & Fitch models (literally, I’m not even joking) as bridesmaids together in the wedding. That will be interesting…

            My dad and I have found ways to communicate effectively (with intensive amounts of work in counseling together), and although our relationship is far from perfect, it is manageable now. I usually see him once a week for dinner.

            My mom, Casey, and I have started a new phase of life together, moving into a new house. The house we live in now is my mom’s dream home, it really is beautiful, and my mom deserves it more than anyone I know. Honestly, this was probably the best change of this experience for me. I am able to find peace in the new house, in my new room, and the memories/PTSD of a tension-ridden home are left behind.

            Recently, we welcomed a new member into the family, and my mom let me adopt my very own puppy. She is my baby, and just one of the many representations of change in my life, in this case, a great change.

            I do not feel pity for myself, nor do I want others to feel that way toward me. That is not why I wrote this. I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason, and I think that this experience has made me a stronger, more well-rounded person. I have been fortunate enough to meet many new people, and have gained new experiences along the way. I am aware that although my parents separated, mainly due to the tension between them, resulting in the failure of the marriage, that I will always have two different families. And when the two come together for special events involving Casey and I, it is still, if not more tense and awkward. I hope that anyone who reads this and did not know about my situation before, remembers to put things in perspective, to stay optimistic, be forgiving, and to think about what other people might be going through, that you might not have even considered.