When A Marriage Fails
A narrative, with a solution, to facilitate the transition of divorce for children.
It was not at all on my radar when I solemnly stated my wedding vows:
“to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, ’til death do us part, according to God’s ordinance; and thereto I pledge thee my troth.”
I meant those words when I stood at the alter almost 30 years ago. It never occurred to me that our marriage would end up contributing to the rising statistical rate of failed civil unions. In Canada, approximately 38% of marriages end in divorce. Source
I’m not going to publicly shame my ex or bore you with all the gory details. This story is not written to air my dirty laundry because it does take two to tango. I was equally at fault for the demise of our sacred union. All that you need to know that there was an accumulation of situations and failed communication that caused things to fall tragically apart, and we are now divorced.
I am ashamed that I failed as a wife. That those vows became meaningless, arduous, and impossible.
I was so afraid to admit anything to my parents, who were blissfully oblivious to what was going on living on the other side of the world. The phone calls became less frequent, and when we did speak, I was able to bluff my way through with small talk.
I didn’t want to hurt, upset, or disappoint them. The weekly emails also decreased in regularity. I could easily fake happiness in ‘person’, but to actually write lies was impossible.
Meantime, I was still a mother to three wonderful kids. What taunted me the most was how on earth could our precious offspring be protected from the impending demise of our traditional family unit?
The kids. My kids. Our kids.
Initially, my denial of the imminent doom drove my existence. I threw myself into fiendish gym workouts to release stress and frustration or escaped the house whenever I could if he was there to mind the kids.
There were many days that I dragged myself out of bed to get them fed and off to school and then come home and retreat to being horizontal. In the darkness of those days, I would desperately try to find solutions to resolve my pain and not inflict any on the kids.
When they were not in sight, I was a wreck. As soon as they were home, I put on a brave face and soldiered on.
My circumstances were a little different from the norm. It wasn’t just a case of me having the guts to get up and leave. I was here in Canada on a special Visa because of his work, and if I just up and left, there was not only the risk of being sent home, but I would be going without my kids.
You do not want to mess with the law and all those between-the-lines legal clauses that could amount to unthinkable consequences. I felt like I was up against a brick wall with nowhere to go.
Losing my kids was not an option.
“Nobody wants to go through divorce, especially when there’s young children involved”. — Lindsay Davenport
I had countless discussions with a couple of close friends and searched websites on how to separate without causing too many issues for the kids. Our youngest was 9-years old. They were all still at such a vulnerable age, and it concerned me.
Their welfare was of my utmost importance, and yet the longer I procrastinated, the more they were potentially going to suffer. We went to marriage counselling where our differences became even more apparent.
After months of just co-existing, in the end, it was a pivotal event that put the nail in the proverbial marriage coffin.
I don’t know where the idea came from, but I liked it. It maintained some form of normalcy for our kids. It required collaboration on both our parts and despite our huge differences on a plethora of matters, we agreed on the plan.
For the sake of our children. We rented an apartment for us to move between and leave the kids in the family home.
Life as a nomad began.
I would be at the family home for one week and take full responsibility for the kids. School drop-offs and pick-ups. Meals. Homework. Recreation. Routine. Rules. It was easy for me; that was a role that I was more than familiar with since my oldest was born.
Meantime, he was at the apartment. Able to work, and with no parental responsibilities. No angst between the two of us to upset the kids.
And then we would swap.
Now that was tough for me. I had always been with my kids. This was a new reality that I really didn’t like. But it maintained a familiar environment for them and was a great transition for what was eventually going to happen to their world.
I knew deep down that what we were doing was for the better. Not for me, or him. But for them. Our flesh and blood.
Thankfully, by this point, I was striving to obtain my Québec nursing license and my days were busy. I did as much study and work as I could when I had that week to myself, so that mummy duties were minimally compromised when I was with my kids.
They soon learnt that we were both very different parents, although they likely already knew that. Kids are not stupid, and they pick up on vibes and body language.
We already each had our own disciplinarian ideas and norms. When with their Dad, his rules stood. When with me, mine did. Yes, it initially caused confusion, and kids are very capable of manipulation whenever they didn’t like my way — or his. It created numerous headaches, but they soon adjusted.
Children are remarkably resilient. The bottom line was they were loved, whoever they were with and wherever they lived.
This arrangement continued for two years. To be honest, by then, I had enough of cleaning up two houses instead of one (I am uber fussy!) and was pretty fed up with having to lug stuff from one place to the next.
Deciding in advance what clothes I needed for the next week was frustrating because we had agreed not to encroach on each other’s space to retrieve something.
It was time for me to get my place.
The transition from being a united family to a separated one was made relatively painlessly by keeping our children in their own world and maintaining routines.
Possibly the biggest lesson that I learned through all of this was an understanding of how my kids then felt when they started doing the ‘swap’ between homes. I understood their frustration when they forgot to bring something deemed absolutely necessary with them.
Over the course of time, they managed to accumulate enough underwear and school uniforms in each residence that it wasn’t necessary to pack and unpack a huge suitcase of belongings each time.
They were able to negotiate visits at either home if needed. As they got older, they determined that swapping every two weeks was more practical and suitable for their changing needs, and we obliged.
We clearly did something right as behaviour issues were relatively rare, and all three of them are now successful, well-behaved, socially adjusted, and nice adults whom I am immensely proud of.
Years later, I still have friends ask me if I regret being married. How could I? I have three amazing adult children (they will always be considered kids!) who, remarkably, came out fairly unscathed from the trauma of witnessing their parents’ divorce.
They would have been more scarred had we stayed together. Remaining in a toxic relationship only for the sake of children will undoubtedly cause detrimental effects on mental health for all concerned.
Trust me, it isn’t worth it.
“Divorce is always good news. I know that sounds weird, but it’s true because no good marriage has ever ended in divorce. That’s never happened — THAT would be sad.” — Louis C.K., comedian.