Even Parents with Irreconcilable Differences Can Produce Happy, Well-Adjusted Kids
My kids don’t mind that I don’t talk to their father anymore.
We divorced when the kids were in grade school. My rationale: better for the kids to see their parents choosing to be happy then choosing to make each other miserable.
I thought it was a solid argument; we were not happy together. But it wasn’t as simple as that because my then-husband didn’t want a divorce. And so he fought it. He blamed me for “ruining everything,” for the depression he said I caused him. He drank. His family posted nasty social media remarks. Not surprisingly, my children blamed me for pulling the family apart, for hurting their father.
It was a long road. I had a full time job, didn’t fight him for money, and scraped together enough to buy a small house, leaving as soon as possible because he was becoming threatening. Rather than counsel me to claim the money I was entitled to my lawyer (bless her) understood. It would only be more contentious, more violent, if I fought him. On the day the divorce finalized she bought me lunch — an act of kindness I won’t forget — and I returned to work.
When I moved into my new little cape I painted the kids rooms, worried about them getting home safely from school, commuted, worked, and made dinners. My ex-husband remained angry and critical but found a new partner and we settled into trying to co-parent respectfully. It was hard. Part of the problem during the marriage was that we disagreed about how best to discipline the children and set limits. He, I felt, was unkind to my son. I, he thought, was too soft. He, I felt, did not allow my daughter time alone in time-outs to self soothe. He didn’t care what I thought; she was his princess. It did not become any easier to make decisions and support each other’s parenting after we had divorced, but we tried.
Then one day it went truly south.
Our 15 year old daughter had begged to have her hair darkened. I allowed it. When she arrived at his home on the following weekend he was angry, demanding the color be reverted from the darker brown she’d asked for to her own lighter brown. I worried about her feelings; she was self-conscious and struggled with her appearance. I wanted her to decide about her own hair. He rained a litany of insults on me, including calling me a rotten mother.
Nothing could have been crueler. Like most mothers, I live for my kids.
So that was the last time I ever spoke to him.
I’ve asked the kids, since then, if they are upset that we don’t talk. They shrug and say “no, you are both happier.”
It’s been two years since that day. Both of my children are well adjusted, emotionally mature, and they love both of us, so I don’t see a reason to question or second-guess them. They prefer the space between us because it brings out the best parent in each of us.
So in the end, it turns out to have been true: better for the kids to see us choosing to be happy on our own then choosing to make each other miserable.
