Divorce for the Children

I was talking with my therapist the other day when I mentioned I'd been blogging about my parents' divorce.  How I hadn't talked about it in detail for thirty-two years.  How I'd figured out what had been the triggering point for my recent swearing, irritability and anger.

Writing about that time in my life unlocked sadness.  Not the boo-hoo kind of sadness but the kind of sadness I feel when I see a dead cat on the side of the road.  I love cats.  Seeing one like that gives me cause to ponder and be sad and then I pray and then I move on.  It wasn't my cat.  I had no emotional investment in it's life.  I had no emotional loss in its death.

The same was true in my parents marriage.  I didn't grow up witnessing two people who loved or respected each other.  My dad was a dominant, angry man who was sometimes nice and laughed.  Unfortunately that side of him wasn't around often enough.  In fact, there was no telling when he would be around.  Sometimes, he'd change from the nice man into the angry man without warning.  Those were the times I feared the most.

My mom was very loving and used to sing to us at bedtime.  She'd come into our room and sit on the edge of my bed.  She sang Red, Red Robin, Lavender Blue and other songs I can't remember right now.  Her voice, to me, was angelic.  But pretty soon, she changed.  She became more scared and jumpy.  When scary things would happen, she would freeze.  Where did she go?  I wish she would have protected me from my dad.

Divorce.  The Bible says God doesn't want that for any of His children.  I understand why from only a child's perspective.  I also know God doesn't want any of His children to be abused.  That's what was happening in my home.

Being the oldest of three girls and the "boy" my dad never had, I was mixed up inside.  On one hand I was begging my mom to divorce my dad, telling her we'd be okay without him.  On the other hand, I couldn't believe she went through with it because he wasn't that bad.  I was feeling responsible for the divorce and in denial about the extent of the abuse I survived.

Through their marriage and divorce, I learned a lot.  Some good, some not so much.  Most of all, I learned it's important to listen to that small inner voice that God puts into all of us.  I don't know what to call it before we accept Jesus as our Savior but afterward it's the Holy Spirit.

The divorce of my parents, literally, saved mine and my sisters lives.

Visitation and Divorce

If there was one positive from my parents divorce it was the age of my sisters and I when it happened.  We were in our teens and old enough to be able to decide for ourselves how often we wanted to see our dad.  My heart aches for those parents and children who were separated and struggled to have time with each other.  I can't imagine your pain.

Since my dad lived close to us we could walk there.  But one thing was for certain:  Even though distance was not a factor, our previous years of living with a violent alcoholic were not magically erased just because he was no longer living in our home.  We went to his apartment with reluctance.  Not one of us would go there alone.

My dad moved into the apartment above the bar in our village.  By today's standards it was a two bedroom, one bath with a living room and kitchen.  It was perfect for a single person or a single person with one kid.  I remember the deep yellow paint on the walls the cobalt blue rug and some of the furniture my dad had taken from the house (his dresser, coffee table and not much else).

When I'd moved back into my mom's his girlfriend stayed.  We would go over there for some visits on the weekend, holidays, Father's Day and other times.  It was usually awkward because there wasn't anything to talk about.  He tried having a father/daughter relationship with us but it was already too late.  The damage had been done.

I remember one Father's Day when I was talking and used a swear word just to see what he'd do.  I was sitting on his counter which was okay.  He looked right as me as if I'd committed a mortal sin and told me Father's Day was now over.  I looked at my sisters when he told me to get out of his house and not come back until I could learn how to respect his house.  I slid off the counter and he got toe to toe with me.  I was now about seventeen years old and stared at him eye to eye.  I left the kitchen and my sisters followed me.

None of us wanted to be there anyway.

After that, my sisters got into recovery.

We told my mom what happened.  She told us we did not have to go over there if we didn't want to.  I believe there was a gap of a couple of years where I did not see or talk to him.  Other than my high school graduation, he did not have a place nor did he fit in my life of recovery.

I don't remember exactly but I think it was a few years where all we exchanged were birthday and holiday cards.  Do you know how hard it is to find a Happy Birthday and Happy Father's Day card for a man who abused you?  Of course you do.

You try to find a card that isn't mushy with how they've been there for you; how much they've encouraged you to become a better person; how every time you needed advice they were there to listen and offer you wisdom; how they brushed your hair and put it in pony tail; how they went to your games and cheered for you; the long talks while looking up at the stars; teaching you how to build models or rockets or paper airplanes; how pretty you were on your first day of school; knowing he'd be there whenever you needed help with a bully; his hug to make your hurts go away; the father/daughter dance he so proudly escorted you to; taking you out to celebrate the grades you worked hard to earn at school; and the time you and he spent together at Boy Scouts or 4-H or Awana or another father/son organization where it would just be the two of you.

That's some of what Adult Children In Recovery dream of for dads. I've thought about writing my own line of greeting cards for Adult Children In Recovery.

Who knows?  Maybe someday that will happen.

God Provides $$

The Bible says I should be content with what I have.  For the most part, I am.  Except during times when I'm not.

Living on a low income is hard.  I don't have many frills.  If you look at my assets there's my mobile home that's forty-four years old, my car that is eleven years old, my brand new laptop that was a gift from a friend and that's about it.  Everything else was free or from Good Will or Savers.

I'm not complaining.  Lord knows how very grateful I am for everything I have.  I'm not yearning for anything new.  I wish I could have simple things like this:

- A full tank of gas and more for the whole month
- Be able to eat out when I don't feel like cooking
- Do things with my nephew and nieces
- Drive up to my Mom's for a visit
- Drive to two friends for a visit
- Pay off some medical bills
- Go on vacation

When I was able to work full time, the above was easy to do.  Now that I'm not able to work and rely solely on social security disability, this sixth year is still hard.  Paying off my car helped but now I have car repairs.  Again, I'm grateful to have the funds but I can't seem to catch a break.

I wonder if I'm not meant to catch a break?  Maybe God wants me to learn more about depending on him and less about my managing?  That could be.

Well, I guess I can only do what I can do with what I have.
And maybe what I have is enough.

A Road Well Traveled

Moving back in with my mom after living my Dad was a little hard.  That's when I began acting out.  I was angry, I lost my identity in the family and I didn't know who I was.

I continued attending Alateen meetings.  I liked the other kids at the meeting. We shared a bond because of our abuse experiences.  Some were getting hit like I was.  Some were being thrown through patio doors.  There was always someone who had it worse.

During this angry period I was going through, I guess I was becoming too rage filled.  My mom talked to me and gave me an ultimatum.  She said either I go see a counselor or I move out of the house.  Being fifteen years old and having a logical mind, I knew moving out wasn't the way to go.

I  ended up seeing this counselor who went to Al-Anon and was a Reverend.  She didn't have much to work with because I'd show up with my long hair covering my face, leather coat, t-shirt and raggedy jeans.  I never talked.  She did all the talking.

Eventually I took the driver's ed class and passed.  My mom shared her car with me.  I found a new sense of freedom.  I also found a new way to hide.

I wasn't the best at picking my mom up from work on time.  I put other people before her.  But then again, I didn't care.

I kept seeing this counselor until I was 20.  I eventually talked to her.  Unfortunately she mislabeled me.  She didn't recognize sexual abuse or PTSD symptoms.  I'd come into a saving relationship with Jesus.  I decided to leave because some of what she said contradicted what the bible taught.  When I asked her about it she said the bible was written a long time ago and basically the things in the old testament were no longer applicable.  That made sense at first until God convicted the truth in me.

The journey of therapy groups and therapists went on for the next 30 years.

Alcoholism, abuse, divorce and other stuff took time to surface and work through.  It's not an easy road.  It's a road that was created by others that only God and I can heal.

And some days.....it's a long long journey.

Divorce Insanity Then Sanity

My parents divorced just after my fifteenth birthday.  For eleven years I was abused over and over again.  There was lots of yelling and screaming and crying from all of us.  

And then....there was silence.

The alcoholic was gone.  The crazy yet predictable behavior vanished.  I no longer had to protect myself, my mom and my sisters from the monster.  The monster was gone.

And yet there was something unsettling inside of me.  Something that couldn't accept this peaceful way of life.  It was too quiet, too uneventful, too "normal."  

One day not long after my dad moved out my mom made another announcement.  She directed it toward me.  "I'm going to be the parent now."  I laughed and said, "Right!  You have no idea what to do."  "That may be true," she replied, "But I'm going to try anyway."  "Fine," I said, "Good luck."

I lost the chaos of living with an active and violent alcoholic which I thought was normal.

I lost the parenting role I'd had for so many years in my home.

My identity was being stripped from me and I was slowly not knowing who I was.

I didn't like the changes my mom was making.  I decided that maybe my dad's alcoholism really wasn't that bad after all.  I asked him if I could move in and he said yes.

When my dad was living with us he would get dressed up on Friday or Saturday night and go out.  I asked him one time where he went.  He told me he went to the chicken place and ate chicken in the car and just sat there.  I didn't really believe him but I did give him credit for not telling me the truth.

I share this because soon after I moved in he came to me and asked if his "friend" could move in with us.  Her name was Shirley.  I said yes.  Shirley became my new best friend.  My borderline personality disorder kicked into full swing.  I clung to her and pretty soon the abuse started all over again.

After three months of living in the insanity again I decided I was going to go to my Alateen meeting.  I packed my bag, walked downstairs and had to walk passed him in the bar to get out the door.  As I approached the bar someone gave him a nod and he turned to face me.  He got toe to toe with me and asked where I thought I was going.  I told him I was going to my Alateen meeting.  He said no your not.  He had that look in his eye like we were going to engage in a starring match.  This is one of times I was glad there were other people around.  He said if I walked out the door not to plan on coming back.  I walked past him and out that door.

The Alateen meeting was about twelve miles from my house.  I walked half way when all of a sudden my mom saw me and pulled over.  I got into her suburban, didn't say a word, she didn't ask any questions and she took me to my meeting (which is where she was going for her meeting).

I moved out of my dad's place.  

I moved back into my mom's house.

Those two blocks between them seemed like miles after I decided to do what was best for me.

I was a real mess for a long time after the divorce.  Even today, thirty-two years later, I still have flashes of anger, irritation, aggravation and other negative emotions surface.

At least I knew enough to know I could go back to my mom.  She has never rejected me no matter how screwed up I get.  I'm very blessed to have a mom who listens and obeys to what God tells her.

You see, she wasn't going to go that way to the meeting.  She felt a nudge to go that way.  And then...there I was.