When some people hear the word divorce, they think of a thunderstorm. Parents’ voices raised in anger. Kids cowering in the background as they listen to the booms grow louder and watch the lightning flash.
Divorce: A Cycle?
I squinted at the laptop, its harsh white light illuminating the dark room. I barely noticed the rhythmic breathing of my sleeping roommate as I read from my paper:
Amato . . . reasoned that because children witness their parents’ divorce, they are more vulnerable to traits that will interfere with marriage, such as poor communication skills and the hesitancy to take on the lifelong commitment of being with another person.
I had started my paper with the intention of producing a convincing argument about the resilience of children with divorced parents. While there was some evidence, it was far outweighed by the evidence about the emotional scars that these children carry.
In the darkness that almost felt palpable, in the blatant academic light cast from the computer, I was no longer a human being with her own agency. I was just another statistic.
Was divorce a hereditary disease that was just passed down through the generations? My grandma . . . my mom . . . my sister . . . was I just destined to be the next one?
Was trying to keep a marriage together like holding a melting ice cube in your hands? Despite your best efforts to keep it whole and steady, the water pools and drips through your helpless fingers onto the floor?
Amato . . . reasoned that because children witness their parents’ divorce, they are more vulnerable to traits that will interfere with marriage, such as poor communication skills and the hesitancy to take on the lifelong commitment of being with another person.
I had started my paper with the intention of producing a convincing argument about the resilience of children with divorced parents. While there was some evidence, it was far outweighed by the evidence about the emotional scars that these children carry.
In the darkness that almost felt palpable, in the blatant academic light cast from the computer, I was no longer a human being with her own agency. I was just another statistic.
Was divorce a hereditary disease that was just passed down through the generations? My grandma . . . my mom . . . my sister . . . was I just destined to be the next one?
Was trying to keep a marriage together like holding a melting ice cube in your hands? Despite your best efforts to keep it whole and steady, the water pools and drips through your helpless fingers onto the floor?
Two Great Parents
I was never that angry about the divorce. Deep in my heart I knew my parents weren’t going to get back together, and I didn’t necessarily want them to.
As I grew up, entering junior high and then high school, as my dad and stepmom’s visits become less frequent, shifting from every couple of weeks to once a month . . . there was loneliness.
But in that autumn of my life, I clung to memories of springtime that played soothing melodies in my mind. Scripture study with my dad and stepmom each night. Going to cute cafes with my mom and eating sugar cookies iced with pink frosting. Remembering warm summer nights watching meteors streak across the sky, laughing with my dad over some funny story from his sports broadcasting days. Even under difficult circumstances, my parents were there for me.
What did unsettle me about the divorce was how it spun my outlook on life. Growing up in a life where I believed rules were firm, clear-cut, and unquestionable, I wanted a list of do’s and don’ts. I wanted someone to hand me a list that was titled in bold, “Here are the ten things to do to ensure that you’ll never fail in life!” Or a pamphlet that proclaimed, “Surefire techniques for preventing divorce!”
Maybe my obsession with rules would’ve stayed if one of my parents had been an undeniable jerk who had wordlessly walked away. But as it was, neither of my parents were bad people. They were both faithful and religious people.
Growing up, every time I had a friend over at my house, they would gush to me the next day, “Your mom is so cool!” And they were right.
My mom is the kind of person who invites you over for Sunday dinner and doesn’t let you leave until you’ve agreed to take a box of cookies and at least one gift—whether it be pot holders, a new decoration to brighten your home, or an extra two or three bags of sweets. She’s the kind of person who uncomplainingly does twelve-hour shifts as a CNA at the hospital because caring for people is all she’s ever known. Her cozy apartment apartment is stuffed with comfy couches, cheerful lamps, and toys for the grandchildren.
Because that’s what’s important to her. Spending time with family.
My dad is the kind of person who can strike up a conversation with anybody. Whether it’s through inviting you to a party complete with sports and wings, asking you about how your son that you’ve only mentioned once is doing, or buying you a hot meal, he will make you feel loved in a heartbeat. I’ve lost track of how many times he’s called me under the guise of managing my fantasy football team—then spent an hour asking how my life is going.
Part of me wanted to believe that one of my parents made a mistake that I could easily learn from and simply avoid. One day during high school I was sitting at my dad’s pool, watching him do laps. “Dad,” I asked, “What did you guys do wrong? What made you so unhappy?”
My dad stopped swimming and gave me a serious look. “Julie,” he said, “I have my regrets from the divorce. If I could go back, I would handle things very differently. Your mother was a wonderful woman. I will never forget the constant shower of support that she was to me when I was a bishop. We just went through a rough patch and didn’t know how to escape it.”
To a girl who grew up casting people into categories of good or bad, who grew up believing that following rules and beliefs protected you, this was a revelation to me.
That was when I realized that the divorce was no one’s fault. Just two good people who went through a rough patch.
My Latter-day Saint faith wasn’t a complete how-to book for living a perfect, trial-free life. It gave me great guidelines, yes, but ultimately life was imperfect.
As I grew up, entering junior high and then high school, as my dad and stepmom’s visits become less frequent, shifting from every couple of weeks to once a month . . . there was loneliness.
But in that autumn of my life, I clung to memories of springtime that played soothing melodies in my mind. Scripture study with my dad and stepmom each night. Going to cute cafes with my mom and eating sugar cookies iced with pink frosting. Remembering warm summer nights watching meteors streak across the sky, laughing with my dad over some funny story from his sports broadcasting days. Even under difficult circumstances, my parents were there for me.
What did unsettle me about the divorce was how it spun my outlook on life. Growing up in a life where I believed rules were firm, clear-cut, and unquestionable, I wanted a list of do’s and don’ts. I wanted someone to hand me a list that was titled in bold, “Here are the ten things to do to ensure that you’ll never fail in life!” Or a pamphlet that proclaimed, “Surefire techniques for preventing divorce!”
Maybe my obsession with rules would’ve stayed if one of my parents had been an undeniable jerk who had wordlessly walked away. But as it was, neither of my parents were bad people. They were both faithful and religious people.
Growing up, every time I had a friend over at my house, they would gush to me the next day, “Your mom is so cool!” And they were right.
My mom is the kind of person who invites you over for Sunday dinner and doesn’t let you leave until you’ve agreed to take a box of cookies and at least one gift—whether it be pot holders, a new decoration to brighten your home, or an extra two or three bags of sweets. She’s the kind of person who uncomplainingly does twelve-hour shifts as a CNA at the hospital because caring for people is all she’s ever known. Her cozy apartment apartment is stuffed with comfy couches, cheerful lamps, and toys for the grandchildren.
Because that’s what’s important to her. Spending time with family.
My dad is the kind of person who can strike up a conversation with anybody. Whether it’s through inviting you to a party complete with sports and wings, asking you about how your son that you’ve only mentioned once is doing, or buying you a hot meal, he will make you feel loved in a heartbeat. I’ve lost track of how many times he’s called me under the guise of managing my fantasy football team—then spent an hour asking how my life is going.
Part of me wanted to believe that one of my parents made a mistake that I could easily learn from and simply avoid. One day during high school I was sitting at my dad’s pool, watching him do laps. “Dad,” I asked, “What did you guys do wrong? What made you so unhappy?”
My dad stopped swimming and gave me a serious look. “Julie,” he said, “I have my regrets from the divorce. If I could go back, I would handle things very differently. Your mother was a wonderful woman. I will never forget the constant shower of support that she was to me when I was a bishop. We just went through a rough patch and didn’t know how to escape it.”
To a girl who grew up casting people into categories of good or bad, who grew up believing that following rules and beliefs protected you, this was a revelation to me.
That was when I realized that the divorce was no one’s fault. Just two good people who went through a rough patch.
My Latter-day Saint faith wasn’t a complete how-to book for living a perfect, trial-free life. It gave me great guidelines, yes, but ultimately life was imperfect.
Braving the Storm
I met my husband much sooner than I anticipated.
I talked to him about communication. About managing our finances. I wanted our future marriage to be the best it could be. And suddenly I was that girl in high school again who wanted to believe in the infallible power of gospel standards that would protect us from any marital strain.
There were no guarantees. Nonetheless, I clung to my belief in those gospel guidelines like a lifeline because witnessing the snowstorm of my parents’ divorce made me never want to enter a storm again without being properly equipped.
It was a risk, no doubt about it. According to my research, I was just another statistic, right? Just another one of those kids of divorced parents who was destined to be disillusioned about love or get divorced themselves.
But as I looked back on the happiest day of my life—the day that went by in a blur of coral flowers, mint green cake, and hugs from friends and family alike—I knew I wasn’t going to be another statistic. No, if anything, my love for my husband was strengthened by my resolve to overcome the odds:
I talked to him about communication. About managing our finances. I wanted our future marriage to be the best it could be. And suddenly I was that girl in high school again who wanted to believe in the infallible power of gospel standards that would protect us from any marital strain.
There were no guarantees. Nonetheless, I clung to my belief in those gospel guidelines like a lifeline because witnessing the snowstorm of my parents’ divorce made me never want to enter a storm again without being properly equipped.
It was a risk, no doubt about it. According to my research, I was just another statistic, right? Just another one of those kids of divorced parents who was destined to be disillusioned about love or get divorced themselves.
But as I looked back on the happiest day of my life—the day that went by in a blur of coral flowers, mint green cake, and hugs from friends and family alike—I knew I wasn’t going to be another statistic. No, if anything, my love for my husband was strengthened by my resolve to overcome the odds:
“For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings / That then I scorn to change my state with kings” (Shakespeare, Sonnet 29).
Julie! This was so good! I really enjoyed it and felt like you did a great job at mimicking the personal essay writing style we have talked about in class.
ReplyDeleteSome suggestions: From the paragraph "Maybe my obsession"to the end of that section did not flow as well as the rest of the text.
Also you talked about having a specific set of rules to guarantee no divorce, then you presented a resolution that would resolve that, but I think it might make your paper stronger if you mentioned again in the last section and tied it all together. I hope that makes sense.
Really enjoyed reading this. I liked the storm images throughout. I liked what you said about how people think that its like a thunderstorm, but its actually like snowfall. Then you brought that depiction of the white of the snow to the white light of your laptop. That was really aesthetically pleasing to me. I loved the questioning in the middle of the essay. Loved the imagery in this line, "But in that autumn of my life, I clung to memories of springtime that played soothing melodies in my mind." That was beautiful to read.
ReplyDeleteMaybe I'd suggest to tie up the ending a little more. I want to know your future outlook on how you'll prevent divorce.
Wow I love this so much. I really liked the way you formatted it, and the images you chose from each moment were powerful and clear. I really appreciated your perspective. I thought you did a wonderful job of staying clear with your narrative and not wandering around in a way that was confusing or all over the place. You stayed really grounded with your organization. It was very good.
ReplyDelete