I have secrets. Secrets that have been wrapped in lies masquerading as a truth. A truth so well acted out, at times, I believed them myself. Secrets become burdens, weighing so heavily on your shoulders, the only direction you can move your feet – is falling backwards. My body is weary from the mountains I’ve climbed while carrying these secrets. My mind has held those secrets hostage for so long, they have become more of a friend than a foe. Why tell my secrets now? Maybe because I feel like I’m living a double life. One life that appeals to those that will surely judge me, one life that finally sets me free.
My secrets, emptiness, sadness, anger, failure – are mine and mine alone. Although they came to existence from the collateral damage of a bad relationship, their longevity has endured because of my own choices. Choices I thought I made for my children. For their protection. To keep them as ‘normal’ as I thought they needed to be. Normal in the eyes looking upon them. Normal in what a society deems acceptable. A normal family. Two normal parents. Normal, normal , normal. Growing up a child of divorce, I knew all too well the labels affixed once the world finds out your parents couldn’t manage to keep their relationship together. From the failure of that marriage forward a child becomes, ‘a child of a broken home’. Blame is placed no matter the circumstances surrounding that failure. No one really wants to know the why – or at least not know it well enough that they can stop placing blame. And so I keep secrets. Choosing to sacrifice my own happiness to protect the happiness of my kids. I believed with all that was in me I was making the right choice. All the while never realizing that the secrets would only grow the more sadness I felt, the angrier I got, the more I failed at pretending to be, normal. I’ve always thought of myself as strong. Strong enough to let the name calling, “Stupid, ignorant, pig,” bounce off of me. Strong enough to be ok with a definition of love that didn’t match my own. Strong enough to never hear the words “I’m sorry,” without being followed by “but it’s your fault.” I guess I never realized that sometimes those things can damage you, a tick burrowing through your skin until eventually, it infects your bloodstream leaving you with a weakness no strength could overcome. Everything inside of you becomes – collateral damage. Your thoughts. Your hopes and aspirations. Your self esteem. And outside of you, the collateral damage becomes your children.
Life has a way of handing out wake up calls – if you are paying attention. A child calling their sibling a name, a name you were called just days before. Children always blaming and never owning their own actions. And so I chose – to be brave. To make a choice that would surely deem my kids, ‘children from a broken home’. I chose between letting my children be labeled OR helping my children grow into compassionate, accountable human beings.
I made a choice to let my children see, that I am human. That I fail as often as I succeed. That I feel pain just as deeply as I feel joy. That staying in a relationship with a person that cannot give you what you deserve, is not really a choice at all. I’m teaching them that normal is a label created by those who fear what is different. I’m teaching myself that being damaged doesn’t mean being broken. Every day I am learning to be ok with being human.