MEANT TO LEARN
When I reflect on the past year, with all that took place, I realise that certain things had to happen in order for me to be in this current situation. At times, things seemed impossible. But a year later, life is better.
This time last year, my son and I returned from spending 16 days in Europe during the Winter break. Though I am grateful for the experiences we had, I am glad things took a turn from my expectations. Sometimes we need the passage of time in order to see a different perspective. To realise that certain events are temporary, albeit hurtful at the moment.
My children tell me to ‘get a husband’. Someone who can help me with the day-to-day life of raising a family. I tell them it’s too late for that because they will soon be out of school and the time for them to have a complete home is when they are younger. The experiences they have had growing up have not been ideal. Nobody really expects to divorce, but things happen.
I hope my children learn from the experiences they have seen growing up. I hope they see the importance of choosing a partner wisely. Of finding someone who values them as much as they value themselves. But also, to respect each other and to help each other grow. Not someone who tears them down. Rather someone who acts as an adult to where they do not need to raise a partner as a child, constantly monitoring their behaviours and keeping them in check.
Growing up in a broken home is not easy for anyone, but children still need to grow up. And parents still need to do the best they can to show children how to develop into fully functioning adults. In an ideal world, divorced parents would communicate with each other about the well-being of their children. In my world, that is anything but the case. In my world, I am not even allowed to show up at the top of their father’s driveway as the stepmother throws a temper tantrum and makes the situation worse for my daughters.
They have learned to avoid conflict. To walk on eggshells. To avoid the landmines of mental illness. They know there will be yelling for whatever reason as soon as they walk into the house. My son was able to escape. Away from a large house, into a small apartment. But he tells me it’s not the amount of space that matters so much as how he felt being there.
Always the younger one, he was reprimanded to his room with glass doors most of the times he was there. Waiting until his stepmother retreated to her room so he could run into the kitchen to find whatever snacks happened to be left in the pantry. He called me on his iPad, in secret at times, and begged me to bring him food as he was hungry. That was two years ago. Now, my son is happier and is thriving, despite what his father believes about our son and despite his insistence that Sage is autistic. The words that come to mind are Munchausen syndrome by proxy. Or now known as Fabricated or Induced Illness by Carers.
Now a similar thing is happening with my daughters. Food is scarce. Yelling is in abundance. But now I get to see them more. I get to feed them and listen to them. To their stories they previously did not share with me. About their lives at home and with their friends. About the unpleasantness their brother experienced, which is even worse now that they are teenagers and can speak their minds. It’s a temporary time. They will grow up and live on their own soon enough and have families of their own.
Though we often wish for more, I believe that life gives you as much as you are able to handle. In small increments. Until the next step when we learned the lesson we are meant to learn.
