An Ode to the Kids Who Have Survived Divorce

I love cats, but I dont have any. I like my solitude and privacy, but Ive shared a room for over half my life. I love to be outside and walk through the woods on my own, but I never have the opportunity to. I love to garden and grow, but I dont have the space. I loved my home, but I dont have only one anymore. Two homes. Two lives. Two parents. Two mes, split down the middle and forever changed.

Photos are snapshots of a moment that follow you forever, your past staring at you, following you with eyes that you know, but no longer know. It is rare to see pictures in my homes, neither parent wanting daily reminders of the life left behind; most pictures sit enclosed in dusty photo albums, hidden in the dark on shelf corners and under beds. On the rare occasion that they are taken down and opened, scanned with hungry eyes, the people I see are not the ones I know. I am not the person I know.

People constantly change, with every decision they make, every individual thing that they experience, every person they meet, so its understandable that I would be different. If I look hard enough, not just with my eyes but with the memories in my head, when looking at the strange, alien, version of myself, I can practically see the changes occurring before me, not only physical, but inside of myself too.

The person in this photograph is seven years old, fearless, talkative, confident, happy. Eyebrows lifted to attention, eyes brimming with energy and pride, smile happy and delighted yet still the awkward grin of a child who doesnt know how to smile for a picture. Golden blond hair, bright hazel eyes, and a blue glow surrounding, as if the child itself is glowing, like a celestial being. I dont think that angels are the souls of the dead, I think they are the souls of the young. And I think, when looking at pictures of myself and my brother and sister, that I am seeing angels who have yet to become warriors of the mortal world. Angels who have yet to go to war.

We grew up in a battle field of three years; dodging bullets, taking cover, playing spy, always looking over our shoulders, never sure of what the next day would bring. Caught in the crossfire. I remember nights laying awake and listening to shouting matches from the floor below, unchecked in the belief that all us little soldiers were asleep in our beds. Watching the match unfold in secret, hidden behind the stair railings in the dark, me in my bunny slippers and my brother wrapped in his winnie the pooh blanket. I remember the numb car rides, filled with empty explanations, and the repeated question; why?

And after the wars been won, and borders settled, us angels return to split homes, battle scarred and haunted by memories of a time before the bullets flew. In some ways, the aftermath is worse than the battle itself. If I were to use one word to describe what it is like to live immediately after a divorce, it would be coping. Life afterwards is so different, yet eerily similar. It feels almost like you're living with a view of a ghost town, layers of before and after overlapping continuously. The same old house, but a different person is cooking dinner, the same bedroom, but only one person comes to tuck you in, the same yearly road trips, but the back doesnt seem so squished now that one of us can ride in the front. And even though physically, youve barely changed, inside youre like a stranger. Youre constantly bombarded with thoughts. whose night is it? Whos picking us up? What do I have to pack? Where am I going tonight? You become a micromanager of everything you own, an expert packer, a skilled predictor of the future, living out of backpacks and backseats of cars.

Looking at the picture of the younger version of me, I can almost see her face becoming closed off, her eyes turning inwards rather than outwards, wanting to live in an imaginary world than have to live in one that is constantly changing. With every fight that she hears, and every box that she packs, she escapes into worlds of make believe in books, in movies, is made up games, or stories in her head. Anywhere she can hide, and pretend for a little bit that she is okay.

But after a while, once youve had time in your secret hiding places to work through the war you witnessed and the wounds you suffered, you begin to see that perhaps the real world isnt as horrible as you imagined it would be. You begin to spend less time hiding away, and more time immersing yourself in the new life that is now yours to live.

Ive realized, in the years since my parents divorce, that my family, and the things I go though do not define who I am. They impact me, without a doubt, but I am who I am today only because I chose to be that person. That is the greatest lesson I learned from the divorce. Greater than my distrust, greater than coping with the resulting anxiety and depression from the trauma, greater than learning to divide my time, greater than learning how to make sacrifices. Those things are all apart of me, but they are not who I am.

Though the divorce did control me for years during and after its bullets tore through the sky, I eventually escaped the dark thoughts those memories would bring. And today, I look at the picture of the little me, with bright eyes and a glowing halo, and I do not pity her. For though I went through battle, and came out scarred, I am stronger for it. Because I know that whatever battles I must face in the future, I have the strength to fight them. I know that if I give it time, the dark that clouds my life will pass. And I know that I, and only I, have the ability to choose who I want to be.

I love cats, and I will always love cats, and one day, once I can, I will have one again. I like my solitude, and my privacy, and I know that I will continue to worship the time I have alone with myself, forever. I love to walk outside, and garden, and grow, and I know that one day I will take any chance I get, to hike through the woods, and that I will continue to nurture whatever I can, to make things grow how I have grown. I love my home, and now, I am lucky enough to say that I have more than one. Though I am changed from the things I have experienced, and the things I continue to fight through, I am still me. I am strong, I am independent, I am battle scarred, I am a survivor, and I am a warrior. I have fought through hard times, and can now see the sun, the light that is always at the end of even the darkest tunnels.