The hardest part wasn't the divorce

Divorce is funny. Not funny “ha-ha,” funny in the way that you think you know exactly what is going to hurt and exactly what is going to be hard, and then life shows you things you never expected.

When Ryan and I got divorced, ours was probably different than many people imagine. We weren't angry. There wasn't screaming, fighting, or hatred between us. We worked together through the process and wanted what was best for everyone involved. I remember feeling grateful for that because I thought maybe if we handled it well enough, maybe it wouldn't affect the kids as much.

I think I convinced myself that if we stayed kind to each other, somehow it would soften the blow.

One day Mila completely fell apart. She was crying, screaming, inconsolable because she wanted to go to her daddy's house. The problem was that it was my week with her.

At first I understood it. I knew she was confused. She was little. We had changed her world and her routines and all the things she knew to be normal. Add in the complexity of Mila having special needs and Ryan and I trying to explain something that even adults struggle to understand, and it felt impossible at times. How do you explain to a child why home suddenly looks different? How do you explain why there are now two homes instead of one?

The logical part of me understood what was happening.

The mom part of me was falling apart.

Because while I was trying to calm her down, my mind immediately started asking questions I didn't want answers to.

Does she not want to be here?

Am I giving her a home she feels safe in?

Am I enough?

Am I failing them?

At my house Mila has Landyn, her older brother, who loves her endlessly but also picks on her because that's what older siblings do. At the time, Ryan's living arrangements looked a lot different than they do now. He was living in a neighbor's basement and there wasn't room for Landyn to stay overnight, but Mila would stay with Ryan in his room on the weeks he had her.

So naturally my mind started comparing things. Maybe it was quieter there. Maybe it was calmer there. Maybe she liked it more there.

The hardest part wasn't that she wanted her dad.

The hardest part was feeling like I couldn't fix it.

I couldn't calm her down no matter what I did. Eventually we video called Ryan and hearing his voice helped settle her. I remember sitting there feeling relief because she was okay, but also feeling this ache in my chest I couldn't really explain.

As parents we spend so much of our lives wanting to be the person who fixes things for our kids. We kiss scrapes, hold them when they're scared, tell them monsters aren't real, and somehow make things okay.

But divorce was one of the first times I realized I couldn't fix it.

I couldn't give them back the normal they had before.

And if I'm really being honest, it made me question myself as a mom more than I expected.

Because suddenly I wasn't just trying to raise kids; I was trying to raise kids while learning an entirely new version of motherhood myself.

Landyn was affected too, just differently.

I can imagine being a step parent and a step child is a relationship that can sometimes be hard to navigate. When I was married to Ryan, I think they both struggled at times with figuring out what role they were allowed to play in each other's lives. What boundaries existed? What expectations existed? Where exactly did they fit with one another?

After the divorce they both took a step back from each other. It was almost like neither one really knew what they were supposed to be to each other anymore.

Now they're slowly finding their way back.

Ryan recently closed on a house and now Landyn has been spending nights there too. In some ways it feels like they're getting the chance to start over, almost back at square one, figuring out who they are to each other without all the uncertainty that used to surround it.

But Landyn and I have had to learn a new normal too.

Divorce changed more than where we live or who stays where each week. It shifted dynamics that I didn't even realize were shifting. As parents, sometimes we spend years trying to protect our children from everything. We say yes because we want them happy. We carry burdens quietly because we don't want them to worry. We try to be superheroes.

Then one day you realize superheroes don't teach real life.

I've found myself learning how to create boundaries, how to say no, and how to stop pretending I can do absolutely everything without it costing me something.

And teenagers don't always love that.

There have been moments where I questioned if I was doing any of it right.

Actually... there have been a lot of moments.

Mom guilt is already heavy. Divorce added weight to it that I never expected.

And maybe that's what I've learned through all of this.

This isn't some dramatic ending where everyone suddenly figured it all out and life became perfect.

Teenagers don't magically become easy. Parenting a child with special needs doesn't suddenly become simple. Divorce doesn't come with a guidebook that tells you exactly what to do or exactly what to say.

Guiding teenagers is still a constant battle some days. There are days where I feel like I'm trying to teach responsibility, gratitude, boundaries, respect, and independence all while simultaneously wondering if I'm doing any of it right.

But it is a battle that is so incredibly worth it.

And with Mila, I still spend a lot of time questioning myself too. I want her world to feel engaging and exciting and safe. I want her to learn and grow and become independent while also recognizing that she learns differently and processes things differently. I still wonder if I'm doing enough. I still wonder if I'm getting it right.

Truthfully, I think questioning ourselves might just be part of motherhood.

But if I'm really honest, there have been beautiful things that came from all of this too.

Even though Ryan and I weren't screaming at each other throughout our divorce, our home had changed long before papers were signed.

My kids got their happy mom back.

That one is hard for me to write because as moms we want to believe we've been giving our kids our best all along. But somewhere through everything, I had lost pieces of myself without even realizing it.

My kids got more one-on-one time with me where I was fully present and focused on them. Not distracted. Not trying to manage everything at once.

I got time with friends again.

I got time to just be me.

Not the mom.

Not the employee.

Not the person trying to hold every piece of everyone else's world together.

Just me.

And somewhere in all of that, I remembered that adults are allowed to have fun too.

Kids are resilient, but I think we say that too casually.

Resilient doesn't mean unaffected.

It doesn't mean they don't hurt.

It doesn't mean they don't get confused or angry or miss people or miss the life they thought they were going to have.

It means somehow they keep loving us anyway.

They keep showing up.

They keep finding their footing while carrying things they should have never had to carry.

And maybe we're doing the same thing too.