Some people tell their parents they’re getting a divorce or a separation and are greeted with sympathy and support. Oh honey, are you OK? Tell us what you need. Others are not so lucky. What?! How can you destroy your family like that? Marriage is forever! I was part of the latter group.
As I state in my post, Thou Shalt Not Divorce, I come from a very religious family. Divorce was just not accepted. You stuck it out, for better or worse. The tiny percentage who did divorce was not disowned (that would be un-Christian-like), but every time their name came up, the D word somehow entered the equation: “Aunt Middie is going to be joining us for dinner. You know, she’s Divorced.” Needless to say, my own separation announcement didn’t exactly make for a Kodak moment. To put it mildly, my parents were extremely disappointed in me. I now list it as one of the 10 most stressful experiences of my life—right up there with renovating the master bathroom (neither of which I plan to attempt again).
Afterwards I tried to ignore their negativity and went about the business of being a good mom and a good ex-wife. But every phone call, every conversation was heavy with parental disappointment. I felt trapped. If I didn’t grab control of the situation, their attitude would bog down my life, and I figured I did not deserve that—not after all the effort Mr. X and I had put into trying to save our marriage and into making our separation as painless as possible. I made a rash middle-of-the-night decision, called my therapist, Dr. P, and set up a couple of sessions with my parents during their annual summer visit. I told my parents what I had scheduled and that I hoped they would concur. They were obviously taken aback, but after some hesitation, they both agreed to the sessions. It was a very loving gesture on their part.
The therapy sessions were excruciating—and that’s putting it mildly. Making your mom cry eight times in three hours is not on the top of anyone’s list (unless you’re a teenager.) Dr. P was direct and sympathetic. She helped them realize that I was not doing a bad thing, that I was not throwing away a good marriage, that Mr. X and I had achieved a practically perfect arrangement. I was able to bring up subjects that had been itching at my soul for decades. We worked through the barriers and came out—well, not exactly all hugs and kisses—but in a better place, with a better understanding of each other.
It’s now seven years later and I’m no longer the black sheep. My parents see that their granddaughters are happy and thriving. They know I do not wish to marry again and are wise enough not to bring it up. They accept and even like my atheist partner, Monsieur Z—practically a miracle, considering that in the 80s my mom made it clear that my living in New York City did not give me much chance to meet, much less marry, a good German Lutheran. Life can provide some difficult twists sometimes. I’ve learned that the important thing is to reach up as high as possible and plant a bright red cherry on top of that twist. Yum.
A raspberry sorbet sundae with a dark chocolate coulis sounds very fine right about now.
—The Fine Divorcée
afinedivorce 