Breaking the Silence

I haven't written much in this blog this year. Partially because I've been busy. But more because since last year, my entire life feels like it's become a taboo. So instead of writing about the things that really matter to me, I update people on the mundane aspects of our life. But really, this has been one of the hardest years of my life, and thus also the hardest years of Adam's life as well.

Last year at this time, I remember calling my husband on the phone from Florida and telling him that I had discovered that my mom was having an affair. This year, I went to Florida with my mom and her new (not so new?) boyfriend. In the interim, my parents separated (for the most part) thier lives, thier possessions, and thier children. I became an adult child of divorce.

Most people expect that as an adult child, you shouldn't experience the same negative consequences as younger children. People expect you to be the strong one, to not hurt as much because you've grown up and moved out. People also expect that you shouldn't talk about your grief, because it's unfair to your parents and siblings to draw attention to yourself. You are called upon to be the supporter, the shoulder to cry on, the glue, the impartial observer. I have even been accused by family members of purposely trying to make my parents life difficult simply because of my emotional reaction to the situation. I decided to write this blog, inspired by a caring advisor, other online blogs and support groups, and the book "The Way They Were", because I no longer accept having my feelings and experience invalidated simply because I'm an adult.

I want to say that adult children experience the same negative reaction to divorce as younger children do; it's just different. The grief is far reaching, and for the most part, I've grieved in silence because I felt that I wasn't allowed to be sad or distressed-- after all, I'm an adult! I found also that it comes in waves-- just when I thought my life and my feelings were together again, something would happen and everything seemed to dissolve. Even a year later, I still hurt from time to time. I didn't experience the shock or false belief that most adult children do, believing that my childhood home was perfect and that my parents should never have split. My parents weren't perfect. Thier marriage wasn't perfect. They just did the best they could. But I do miss it. I do feel that my childhood memories have been violated in a way, that everything about my childhood has been a joke. My mom, like many divorcing parents, tried to erase any physical evidence of her former life. I don't blame her-- I would probably do the same. But the result is that the home that I grew up in is gone. It is literally a physically different structure than it was when I lived there, with many decorative and remodeled modifications. People have told me that I'm being overdramatic when I say that I feel like my childhood is gone, but every remnant of the place where I lived has been replaced by something else. The kitchen was remodeled a few years ago, my room redecorated, the floors redone, etc etc. Don't get me wrong, I endorsed these changes. I still do. But I also don't have a home anymore-- the memories I have of my life took place in a different house, with a different family, one that no longer exists.

Also, I have been called upon (not without a lot of acquiecence on my part) to be the primary support of my family. In a way, this never changed-- I was always the control freak of my family. Once I was old enough to drive, I took over a lot of parenting duties as my parents worked longer and longer hours. I was the glue. Again, I don't blame my parents-- I relished it. I know it was an unhealthy role to have as a child, but it gave me meaning in my life, and pride. The fact that I was the one to take the kids to doctors and dentist appointments, go to school functions, cook dinner, etc became as source of unhealthy pride and martyrdom for me. When my parents separated, my role was the same, but different-- I helped my dad move, I helped my mom's boyfriend move, I helped the kids adjust, to the best of my ability. This, too, I discovered, is pretty normal for adult children of divorce. In a way it wasn't hard-- it gave me something to do. Teaching my dad how to cook chicken offered some unique bonding experiences. :) But therapists struggle to get adult children of divorce to set boundaries-- a skill I never mastered (still haven't), and I'm sure in some ways (invisible to me) my own emotional health and marriage have suffered.

Finally, I'm a graduate student. If I'm good at anything, it's multi-tasking, and balencing. I work all the time. I study all the time. I am a super busy lady. I never get to see my husband, and sometimes my family and my emotions get put on hold so I can finish a project, study for an exam, or read something for dissertation. It's a lot to manage. Unlike other people who experience divorce, I often feel like I never had time to grieve. I am a slow but thorough griever. It's been a year and I still struggle. But I feel like I don't have time for this. A lot of times my sadness and hurt comes out in a frenzied tirade about my computer breaking down, getting a B (instead of an A) on an exam, or a professor who's being a jerk. Most times the only time I have alone is the 30 minute drive rushing between campus and my parents houses on the northside, and that's when I cry. I am trying my best. But most of the time "my best" feels inadequate. I feel like I'm never a good enough student, sister, daughter, wife. A lot of that is my own baggage from before the divorce, but some of it is just me, racing against time and ignoring my broken life/heart.

Of course there's a lot more behind all this-- I would be lying if I said I wasn't deeply angry and frusterated with the situation. But I tried to keep this both objective an honest... for once, this is about me, and not my parents. This is about what I feel, not what they did or didn't do. I know that we'll come out on the other side okay. But I, personally, am tired of "faking it" until then. I'm still broken. But today I decided to be honest about it, in hopes that maybe someone would learn soemthing from it, or at least understand me a little bit better. This is where I am.