Years ago, as I was settling my son into bed, he shared that a friend was relocating because his parents no longer wished to stay married. My daughter, nestled in her cozy pajamas with a book in hand, was listening intently. We had a routine of reading bedtime stories in her brother’s room, a special moment for her since it was the only time he let her join him.
“That’s unfortunate, sweetie,” I replied. “But he’s just moving to a nearby town, and we’ll still get to see him, okay?” As he nodded, my daughter asked a question that sent me spiraling back to my own childhood—would her father and I ever get divorced?
I flashed back to when I was nine, asking my own mother the same thing. “Never,” she had reassured me. “We’ll be together forever.” But just three years later, my parents divorced, and we left our family home to start anew with my mom.
When my daughter posed her question, I hesitated. I didn’t want to promise something I couldn’t guarantee. Yet, I felt a surge of conviction as I replied, “Never. We will be married forever.” I lifted her into my arms, and she smiled, falling asleep before we reached her room.
That conversation has stayed with me since my separation, weighing heavily on my heart. I often wished my kids would forget the promise I’d made, but they hadn’t. Just the other day, while driving to the mall, my daughter brought it up again.
Now, eight years later, it was time to address it. I could hear her nervousness, and I shared in that anxiety. I turned off the radio, knowing this was a crucial moment. I reminded them of the love I had for their father—the love present on our wedding day, during their births, and in that moment of questioning.
Without diving too deep into details, I explained that people evolve, sometimes growing apart. Love can fade, leading to the tough decision to pursue a different path for one’s own well-being—and that’s perfectly acceptable. It doesn’t reflect poorly on me or their father; we simply recognized what was best for our family.
I emphasized the effort involved in marriage—that it’s not a spontaneous choice to leave, but rather a long process filled with reflection and consideration for others. “I don’t care if you ever get married,” I told them. “What matters is that you cultivate meaningful relationships with those you love. If being with someone makes you feel like a part of you is dying, give yourself the space to mend it.”
Then, I asked for a favor. “Please don’t let your father and I not being together discourage you from pursuing true love. We shared a beautiful relationship, and we worked hard at it. Our marriage ending doesn’t equate to failure.”
They were quiet for a moment, then affirmed they understood. I felt a sense of relief knowing this conversation would stay with them, just as they remembered the one from so long ago.
Turning up the music, I glanced at my daughter in the rearview mirror. She leaned against the window, a gentle smile on her face.
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In summary, while my marriage didn’t last, the lessons I hope to impart to my children about love and relationships are invaluable. It’s essential to prioritize genuine connections and to recognize when it’s time to step away for your own happiness.
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