I feel ashamed that after five decades…
I wasn’t able to get over my parents’ divorce.
I still want my own family.
I was not ever OK with being excluded from family photos.
I was never OK with my parents doing fun or interesting things with their new families when I was with the other parent.
I was never OK with my parents spending more time with their new families than with me.
I never wanted to deal with step families even if they were nice to me.
I wasn’t strong enough to be totally comfortable with “two homes.”
I was uncomfortable being raised around people who I did not look like and who did not look like me.
I wasn’t OK with my parents’ defintions of family.
I wasn’t OK with my definition of family being different from my parents’.
I was never OK with having family members that each of my parents did not have.
I have not coped well with not having a singular source of my life, a singular, solid foundation of my family.
I was extraordinarily, profoundly co-dependent as a coping mechanism for all this. My children suffered because of my co-dependency.
I am a Christian and so I believe that, not only are we created in God’s image as individuals, his image appears in our first families, father, mother, child, the image of the Trinity, a community of three persons who are one. The union of that community was taken from me against my will as a very young child. I always wanted it back and I feel ashamed to say that. The replacements did not equal one family, and I feel ashamed to say that. I am supposed to be grateful for receiving familial crumbs that fell from the table of my parents’ post-divorce choices. I was never physically or sexually abused, I was never hungry, and I attended good schools, but family life is more than a good academic education and the absence of overt harm, isn’t it?
According to the secular wisdom of the day, and even some of the religious wisdom, I should have been OK with losing the unity of that community. But I never was. I still feel fractured on the inside and this makes me feel ashamed, like there is something wrong with me.
If everybody gets a “choice,” where was mine?
Did it every occur to anybody why popular music was often so dark as sexual liberation wore on? I’ve thought about it a lot. See if this post and this song helps to explain why.