Solitude has taught me to see the world differently in the three years since my divorce. It has made me more conscious of my aloneness but also more aware of my connections. I have been both snickered at and praised, belittled and admired, shunned and supported. It seems there is something about my experience that sets people off. It makes them think I know things I don’t or don’t know things I do, makes them say things they needn’t and do things I wish they wouldn’t. So, there are some things I’d like to say to those I’ve known these past few years.
To my divorced male friends who don’t have custody of their kids and complain about how much they have to pay, please understand that it’s harder to have to receive child support, as I do, than to have to pay it. Money is power and the spouse who pays it wields a mighty club. You may not control what you have to pay, but you certainly control how it is handled. You decide what emotional strings will be attached to the funds you provide: what guilt, what unresolved anger, what old desires you will arouse in yourself and in your ex. The former spouse can only wait. That waiting is hard. There are bills that don’t get paid. There is a feeling of impotence that can lead to anger. You need to understand that anger comes from frustration. You hold the real power. Use it gently.
To my women friends who have custody of their kids and complain about how rotten their exes are, please understand that men are not the enemy. They simply see life as a battle that they think they are losing when it comes to their kids. Rather than face the embarrassment they feel for their failed marriage, they have chosen to withdraw or to fight back with the one club they have. Please don’t use the kids as weapons. Encourage your ex to be involved in their lives, regardless of how little money he provides or how spiteful he seems to you. Each time you do, you gain an ally. You teach him something. Through loving his children he will grow. He will discover he wants to fight less, to admit his failures, to learn to forgive. You will make him a sweeter man for the next woman he meets.
To my boss, please understand that I do care about my work. But when you ask me to play racquetball at 6:30 in the morning and golf at 6:30 in the evening, I just can’t come. When I have to leave meetings early it’s because I have to pick up my kids before the day-care center closes. When pages were missing from the report I gave you, it was because I’d been up until 2 a.m. the night before washing vomit from the bedsheets and holding cool washcloths to a fevered forehead. It’s not that I don’t care. I have simply chosen to make my kids and my job equal parts of my life. I don’t regret the choice. But it is hard to watch my co-workers rise farther and faster than I do because they play racquetball and golf. It upsets me when you don’t even ask if I want to travel overnight to Phoenix for a conference or take an extra assignment because it involves some overtime. But caring about my kids and my job makes me a better worker, not a worse one. I am more organized. I am more certain of my limits. I’m more forgiving of mistakesmine and others'.
To the woman who is my partner now, please understand that I’m not with you because I need a replacement mother, cook, nurse or caretaker. This is new ground we’re covering. When I won custody of the kids, I became mother, cook, nurse, caretaker. My kids and I have to make our own way with that. We will falter at times, just as you do as a single mother. We will go the wrong way sometimes and think we’re doing fine until we discover we’re lost. We need you to be there to greet us when we return. We need you to show us an easier way when things are too hard, to show us a quieter way when things are too loud. We need you to listen and to guide us along and to be our friend.
To my two sons, who are 7 and 11 years old, please understand that more of your growing up must happen alone. We used to play catch after dinner, but I now have dishes to wash. We used to read stories at bedtime, but I now have laundry to fold. I can’t always remember to ask how your day was. I won’t always have the patience to listen when you do tell me. You will need to let others share in your dreams as well, to catch your throws and bandage your knees. I need to learn to let them.
To my mother, who thinks she should mother me again, please understand that your mothering makes me feel like a child when I need to be more grown-up than ever. Your mothering of my kids makes them feel more helpless than they are when I need them to be strong. Please understand that I will sometimes resist your offer of help even when I may need it, or your offer of company even when I am painfully alone. I must resist because I am still struggling to define what and who I am. I’m trying to blend what I learned from you and what I learned from Dad with the parts of me that are me. You were taught to be a certain way and were lucky enough to find others who were happy to have you be that way. The ways I was taught to be don’t work for me any longer. I can’t rely on your teaching to find my way.
Finally, to myself I say, please understand that others may be just as uncertain of what to make of you as you are. They don’t mean to laugh or be rude. They don’t mean to be uncomfortable with how you are. There are just so few models. So be careful with what shape you choose. There will be others who will use you as their guide. Be gentle and be gracious. If someone asks, “Are you a mouse or a man?” just smile and tell them, “Yes, I am. Yes, I am.”
