Row Your Boat Gently

When children are free to love both their parents without conflict of loyalty, to have access to both without fear of losing either, they can get on with the totally absorbing work of growing up, on schedule. They can learn to master the tasks that life places before them with confidence and a sense of security. And both parents and children can learn that something as hurtful and as earthshaking as a separation or divorce can eventually be handled constructively. - Mom's House, Dad's House, Isolina Ricci

In the early spring sun, Tee and I met at a nearby playground. Bug scrambled around the trees and jungle gyms with the other kids while we chatted. The meeting was meant to be nothing more than a pick-up exchange, but the lazy sun lulled us into dropping our defenses. We began to talk. I shared a suggestion from my counselor, and we discussed some of what is ahead for our co-parenting relationship.

In a flash, Tee was off the bench, storming away, too angry even to sit next to me anymore. What set him off is still unclear. Was it a word, a phrase? Was it a buildup of grief and frustration finally having its chance to blow? Several brewing weather fronts collided at that mile of sky, and the tempest was immediate and total. The conversation spiraled into a barely contained series of accusations and excuses. Each of us lost our inhibition, and even the proximity of our child and our neighbors didn't rein us in.

Some semblance of control must have remained. We did not find ourselves in a screaming battle or calling each other terrible names, and I would hope we made the other parents merely uncomfortable rather than fearful. I have no doubt, however, that Bug sensed something was not right. It can only have caused him distress. Even the April sunshine has only so much power to alleviate a little boy's fear.

The interaction caught us both off guard. Most of our emotional storm fronts stay off shore, and we have only ventured out under them separately and in the company of counselors or friends. Six months have passed since Tee moved out. A few things have shifted during that time. We are each more settled in our work, our childcare routine, and our separate social lives. I am less interested in what Tee does with his private time, and I am more confident in each of our abilities to stay steady through the changes. Nothing succeeds like success. We can talk a good game about our commitment to our child, but the evidence is in the behaviors we exhibit over time. He has not moved away and neither have I. We are not in court. We each trust the other to care well for our son.

One significant shift has to do with the location of my attention. For the first several months, I was caught up in explaining and understanding the choice to separate. I became one of those insufferable people who suck all the air out of a room blathering on about the drama, the failings, the ex, and what went wrong. Fortunately, my friends and family are patient with me. Only a few have abandoned me altogether during this chaotic time. Because leaving a marriage, especially one with a child involved, is such a significant decision, it cannot be made lightly. It is easy to become consumed by the justifications for doing so. The pull to find fault with the partnership and the partner is almost addictive. It allays the guilt and shame, and it serves as a way to say to the world (and the self), "Look what I had to live with! It's a wonder I stayed as long as I did!"

Separation and divorce land a person in leaky boat, rowing madly for shore. I, for one, am still not sure how I got here. Seeking the reasons may be useful over time so that I don't repeat toxic patterns in future relationships. However, the spiraling diagnosis of the past is a kind of Bermuda Triangle. I have to haul myself out of the pull of "Why" and get myself into "What now?"

Shifting direction is easier said than done. "What now" means making decisions and creating entirely new approaches. "What now" means drawing on one's own resources and letting go of the fantasy of rescue. I have been lost for months. In many ways, I still am. Where is my attention supposed to be? Dangers loom. Sharks circle. Storm clouds gather, maps are out-of-date. For those first weeks and months in this rickety vessel, my mind could not focus on any one thing. Sometimes I found myself paralyzed. Sometime all I could do was curse the sky.

But six months apart have calmed the stormy waters around separation. My gaze is finally settling where it should. Blaming Tee, or myself, or our naivete and blind spots is no longer useful. The attention needs to be on the far horizon. What will our lives as co-parents look like? How do we want to arrange our two homes to meet Bug's needs? I may not have a map, but I have a point of orientation. Now, I need to attend more to the tone of the exchanges with Tee as a parent than to the feelings about him as a spouse. The arrangement we build from here on out will need to look like a business relationship. Courteous communication, structured meetings, explicit agreements, and respect for privacy should characterize our interactions in the future. 

The language we use has the power to shape our sense of what is real. If I speak of Tee not as my soon-to-be-ex-husband, but instead as Bug's father, I remove the marriage (and its demise) as the central factor in our relationship. If I say, "Our marriage ended," instead of "Our family fell apart," it allows for a more even keel.

Bug's family is intact. He has two of them: one with his father and the one with me. He has two homes. In the eyes of our son, we are each a whole person with the capacity to shelter him, care for him, and help him grow. His families are solid, his homes are complete. Tee is a good and capable father. I am a loving and resourceful mother. I will do my best to draw these thoughts into the front of my mind when I interact with Tee. I will allow the respectful and hopeful picture of Bug's future guide my words.

Those two stable homes exist on that distant shore. I will keep my eyes trained there as I pull this family over the miles of open water to reach it.