On Being From a Broken Home

I won't say every child of divorce feels this way. I can't speak for all of us. I do know this is how I feel, even now after 30 years since my parents' divorce.

My parents hate each other. They've never even gotten to the point of apathy. They still actively hate one another. And for 30 years I've heard all about it. I've heard the names they've called each other, I've been told repeatedly how much they loathe the other, I've been told stories to discredit the other over and over and over. It's not a stretch then, when my somewhat broken mind draws the conclusion that they then hate the parts of me that are like the other parent. When I say and do things like the other parent, it seems only logical to me that they hate that part of me, too. When I share positive memories of one parent, inevitably the other seems to seethe, because I am not as filled with hatred as are they.

It hurts.

It hurts knowing that two people who created me, whose nature and nurture both influenced me, hate so very much the parts of me that are the other parent. It hurts knowing I can never been 100% loved, because I will always be, however partially, someone hated.

I share this not to change anything in my own family. Decades of history have pretty much solidified its dysfunction. I share this as a cautionary tale. Before you open your mouth, slit your eyes, purse your lips or otherwise show your derision about your co-parent, consider what your children are internalizing. Then consider again, because I guarantee they're internalizing more than you could ever imagine.