Updated: June 7, 2017
Originally Published: May 16, 2017
“Mom, are most divorced people like you and Dad, or do they generally dislike each other?”
As my son Ethan and I drive to the cinema, just the two of us, I can’t help but relish this rare chance for one-on-one time. The rest of our blended family is otherwise occupied, and it feels delightful. Ethan is eager to share what’s been on his mind.
“I’m not sure,” I reply. “What do you think?”
“I think most divorced people hate each other.”
Ethan continues, animatedly recounting stories from his middle school about kids who serve as their parents’ messengers, mediators, and referees. He shares tales of adults squabbling over the phone, children anxious about custody changes, and friends who worry they’re dealing with depression. It’s a lot for a seventh grader.
“Why don’t you and Dad fight like that?”
This question comes up often, though usually from adults curious about the amicable relationship between my ex-husband David and me. They wonder if our divorce was somehow easier. The implication is that we must be quite different from other divorced couples.
In reality, there’s nothing particularly unique about our situation. Our divorce was painful, filled with blame and hurt on both sides. We both felt alone and like we had failed at the most important task of all—building a family.
I tell Ethan the truth. “Dad and I don’t argue because we made a conscious decision during our separation to treat our divorce as one single wound.”
He gives me a puzzled look, so I elaborate. I know that preteens don’t typically ask follow-up questions, and I want him to grasp the concept.
“When we chose to end our marriage, we were aware it would be difficult for all of us. We understood that we could inflict pain just once and then seek our own happiness separately, or we could continue hurting each other and our kids repeatedly. Some parents persist in damaging their families by staying together when it no longer works, while others keep inflicting pain post-separation by arguing over everything—time spent at each house, clothes, vacations.”
He’s listening intently.
I share with him for the first time that David and I didn’t speak for months after our split. He doesn’t remember that, so I briefly recount the late-night arguments that took place when he and his siblings were asleep. Even during those tough times, we were united on one thing: our children would only experience this one significant hurt. We agreed on this during therapy as our marriage unraveled, and despite our differences, we remained aligned on that goal.
“Dad and I still disagree sometimes. We have different parenting styles, and you know that better than anyone since you live with both of us. We handle discipline differently. Dad interacts with Mia in a different way than I do with Liam. But we are united on what matters most: you. We’ve committed to co-parenting because it’s what’s best for you.”
“Dad and I care about you too much to ever let hate come between us.”
I remind him that harboring hatred for his father would mean I’d be resenting half of Ethan’s heart. Allowing anger towards David to cloud my mind would overshadow the joyful memories of our marriage and the beginnings of my journey into motherhood. Choosing love over hate shapes our kids’ narrative from the very start.
Of course, I’m human. I don’t only have fond memories of our marriage. I often find myself disagreeing with David, even when we’re both trying to prioritize the children’s needs. I’m certain he feels the same way. Sometimes I can detect a sharpness in his voice when he believes I’m being overly insistent on an issue. Our history is complicated, filled with hurt and resentment. After all, we chose to part ways.
But we also chose to co-parent. We made a commitment, even when we disagreed on minor issues, to work together for our kids’ sake. We focused on the three people we love most and let that love guide us. Our shared goal is the same as any family’s: to keep our children safe and emotionally whole.
David and I didn’t fail at creating a family when we divorced. Our commitment to co-parenting means we are forever linked. We chose the path that would keep our children healthiest and happiest in the long run, and we made that choice together. In that respect, we are like many married parents. Our decision to co-parent amicably binds us.
Co-parenting in harmony may seem like an ambitious goal, especially if you’re not there yet. I understand; my ex and I didn’t start off this way either. But remember, peaceful co-parenting is achievable—even for those who have been through the most painful splits. You can start small. Focus on loving your children, and take that first step today.
If you’re interested in more about family dynamics, check out this resource on fertility and pregnancy.