I’m not sure how old I was when I changed my opinion on whether my parents should stay together, but I look back and realise that whenever it was, it was the end of my childhood. I distinctly remember being a little girl and often crying during the arguments, shouting that Daddy shouldn’t go, that we should all stay together, but as I got older, my opinions became less panicked, more resolute, and more practical.
I realised that the best thing for all of us would be for my parents to separate. I think I was about ten.
This week, a survey for family lawyers organisation Resolution revealed that children of divorced parents are more likely to get poor exam results, drink, take drugs and have eating disorders. But after spending my childhood watching my parents battle through an unhappy marriage for my sake, I just can’t see how spending a childhood around a couple who shouldn’t be together is any better than having two happy parents who happen to live apart.
Home was a difficult place, and I began to spend as much time as possible out of the house, or cooped up in my bedroom
My parents met when they were in their mid-teens, married in their early twenties, and had me straight after. While I obviously don’t remember my toddling years, I have vivid memories of being seven or eight, and our house being different to my friends’ houses. There was no noise. There was no hustle and bustle, or chit chat. There wasn’t much laughter, even during the good times, and during the bad times, there was an ominous feeling that at any given moment things could escalate into nastiness.
Any happiness was always anticipated to be short-lived, and I developed a resigned cynicism to my parents inevitably doomed relationship. Or so I thought.
READ MORE: Why Are So Many Of Us Living Below The Poverty Line?
The years plodded on. I left primary school, went to secondary school, did my GCSEs, and my parents were still together. Our family was stuck in a cycle of abuse, my dad allowing his anger to dominate their relationship, and my mum unable to develop any trust that she wouldn’t be hurt again. She was also haunted by self-esteem issues, which led to manipulative behaviour that exacerbated my dad’s inability to control his temper.
During this endless tussle, I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone what went on behind closed doors because they worried what our extended family would think. Home was a difficult place, and I began to spend as much time as possible out of the house, or cooped up in my bedroom.
The Resolution report concluded that children of divorced parents are more likely to struggle at school and develop drug and alcohol problems, and to be fair, I passed every exam with outstanding grades, have never smoked a cigarette, and didn’t drink a drop until my mid-twenties.
Do I think it’s because my parents were still together? Yes. But not because I was enjoying a life free of family dysfunction.
I worked hard and made mature choices (possibly too mature) because I was eager to give myself the best start, to be free from their relationship, and to live on my own terms. They gave me a brilliant education, encouraged me to be ambitious, and I was their priority – they believed staying together was the right thing for me. The irony being that if they had prioritised their own happiness, maybe I would have been much happier.
In my teenage years, I was a broken record to my mother. ‘Leave him. Find your own happiness. It isn’t working. You’re putting us through this. Just end it and we can all move on.’ But only as an adult, about to get married and in a few years start my own family, can I fully understand the position my parents were in, and how my pleas were short-sighted.
They had married their teenage sweethearts. My dad was the coolest guy in school, ambitious and sincere, and my mum was the most beautiful girl, with a quick mind and fierce determination. They were hopelessly in love when they married, and even after all those years of bitterness, of them clashing like chalk and cheese, and sacrificing their own happiness to keep our family unit together, they were still obsessed with each other.
READ MORE: How To Make Friends When You’ve Moved To A New City
Oddly enough, they still are. Not in a smoochy way, but in the way that marriage requires to go the distance. I will never forget the look in my dad’s eyes when he told me my mum had been diagnosed with cancer. I will also never forget how when my grandparents were dying, they snapped together, conflict flying out of the window and their automatic pilot kicking in – supporting and protecting each other with the same ferocity with which they used to fling plates.
I am the one success of their marriage, despite having suffered because of it. It’s a tricky role to play, even at 27
They’re even more obsessed with me than they are with each other. While I wouldn’t change this because I have an innate confidence that they’ve always got my back, it does heap on the pressure. I am the one success of their marriage, despite having suffered because of it. It’s a tricky role to play, even at 27.
I spent all my childhood, and most of my adult life, wishing they had separated. My feelings about it have changed as I’ve gotten older, though. They’ve both had counselling, and the relationship has improved gradually, so I feel far less emphatic about it than I used to.
Plus, there’s a weird deluded romanticism to the fact that they worked for 30 years to make it work. But realistically, they would have had much happier lives if they had broken up, or at least separated for long enough to realise that they both had issues of their own to resolve before they could make their marriage work.
Now, I look at them and I’m both sad and proud – we lost a lot of happy years, but they’re still battling to find some new ones. The fight that in both of them was the cause of so many of their problems may also be the solution. And me? I’m doing alright.
Like this? Then you might also be interested in...
We Speak To The University Union That Just Banned The ‘Period Tax’
Follow @TheDebrief on Twitter
Picture: Beth Hoeckel
This article originally appeared on The Debrief.