Why I Killed My Ex-Husband

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Divorce blows. There is just no easy way to put it. I am not sure how most people survive it, let alone go on to trust another person with their heart and get married again. The idea of it baffles me at times. When people ask how I have overcome the grief and anger that I had from the divorce, I tell them it was a choice. I had to choose to kill my ex-husband.

Moving past all the ugly stuff that happens at the end of a marriage is difficult. Moving past the rolling film loop that was playing constantly in my head, the loop of every hurtful thing that was said and done, was painful. The abandonment I felt was confusing. Moving past it felt impossible at times. It felt impossible to gain closure because there was nothing he could say to ever make what happened over the last year of our marriage right. He had changed. The man I had made vows to and committed myself to had changed. He was gone, and what remained was a man I, and those that knew him well, could barely recognize.

Grief had made my then-husband change. It’s easy to understand why the change happened. He lost his mom suddenly. We all did. It was tragic and painful to everyone. We all grieved. We grieved; he grieved; he changed. He was angry and he punished those close to him with words that cut me to my core. And then he left. If I look at our relationship with any perspective, I can see that he had left me months and months before … but at the time I felt blindsided.

Once it was done … once it was really done and I allowed myself to let go, to accept that the person I married was never coming back, I had to figure out what to do. What’s done was done, so I had to do whatever was necessary to move past it for my children, and for me. I had to find a way to somehow get through it and piece myself back together again.

And so I mentally killed my husband. I killed the idea that the man I once married still existed. I killed the visions I had of our future together. I killed the dreams we had shared and the life we were building together. I killed that part of my life that was no longer viable. I grieved the person that no longer existed, and I released him. I accepted the new version of the man I had married as an entirely different person. The old version no longer existed, so I had to stop comparing the new version to that one I once knew so well. He was gone. He no longer existed. He had died.

Mentally killing him, the person I had loved, and allowing myself to grieve that loss allowed me to move forward with this stranger that replaced him.

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It continues to allow me to keep a smile on my face and anger out of my heart.

It allows me to look forward and never look back.

It allows me talk to the boys about their father with respect by envisioning the man I once respected and loved.

By grieving the loss of my husband, killing him in my mind, I can mourn that loss and start a new chapter.

The “wasband” will be woven through every chapter of my life in some way, while the boys are still young, but now I am able to move forward without looking back.

And the future looks good.

And I am better off because of it.

And the next chapter of my life awaits …

Related post: An Open Letter to My Ex-Husband

10 Things Divorced Parents Should Do To Avoid Fucking Up Their Kids

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I’m not divorced and I’m no doctor or lawyer. But I am a product of divorce and I’m damaged, alright? Divorce damaged me. It dismantled everything I knew, or thought I knew, about family and marriage and love.

And how my parents handled it – sucked even more. There ain’t enough therapy in the world for all that. (Sorry Mom and Dad, love you, mean it.)

Here’s how you can dismantle your family better:

1. Get over your fucking tears and hurt and put on a happy face….for your kids. Break down to your family, friends and therapist PRIVATELY all day long — but don’t have those sobbing events in front of your kids. I’m not saying to fake emotional strength — crying in front of children is good because they’ll learn that they can cry too. But those really loud, snot-blasting, can’t-catch-your-breath-sobs: save it for solitude…in your soundproof coat closet.

2. Learn how to co-parent. You may hate the other person’s fucking guts and want them dead, but both parents need to giddy-up and assume their roles as a united front. A united front with both parents giving the kids consistent messages. Truthfully, being a united front is good whether you’re married or divorced. But being a parent alliance is of utmost importance when you’re going through a divorce — because chances are, your kid’s world is crumbling right before their eyes. They need consistency. They need strong co-parents.

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3. Don’t you dare talk shit about the other parent in front of your child. Children idolize their parents — they love their parents unconditionally. However, when one parent bad-mouths the other parent, it creates an even more confusing and toxic experience for the child. It’s a sick, mind-fucking thing to do. It screws up that child’s confidence — suddenly they’re questioning everything they’ve ever known and aren’t sure about a damn thing, all because mommy said daddy is a piece of shit who won’t pay child support, or won’t stop seeing his new girlfriend, or whatever. Your kids cannot process adult situations like an adult (some adults can’t process adult situations either), but do your best to bite your tongue and keep that temper in check. You may be fuming that he fucked your friend, or that she nailed the newbie at work, but keep that shit to yourself, or let it go with some cocktails WITH YOUR ADULT FRIENDS.

4. Don’t use your kids as leverage or as a threat to the other parent. That’s low down and dirty. That’s putting them in the middle of a very volatile situation. You and your ex made the mess — so don’t play monkey in the middle with your kids. Use an expensive leather couch, diamond earrings, a house in the Caribbean, a toaster, but kids are OFF LIMITS.

5. Get a custody agreement (a detailed one) in place as fast as possible. Don’t let ambiguity be your guide. Get every single detail — pick-ups, drop-offs, school vacations, whatever — hashed out immediately. No grey areas; everyone knows and understands the plan = less confusion and instability for kids.

6. Attend family gatherings. That’s right — this is back to the ol’ united front business. There are going to be graduations, recitals, soccer games, birthdays etc. that outside family members and both parents will want to attend. Do not disengage. Instead, show your kid that you’re a mature human being. You can all be together, if everyone acts gracefully and tactfully.

7. Talk to your child about the divorce. But put the details on their level and choose your words wisely (maybe you oughta practice in front of the mirror a few times?). If not, therapy. I despise therapy as an adult — but I’ve heard it helps millions of people. I was forced to go to therapy when my parents divorced, which was nice, because it felt like a safe place to vent. So, get your kids talking to someone, anyone.

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8. Don’t discourage your child from talking about the other parent (in negative or positive ways). Just let them talk. Gawd forbid you hear your ex’s name leave the lips of your child’s mouth. It’s OK killa.

9. Make sure family members and friends outside of the immediate sphere know the deal. Everyone who will be interacting with your child needs to be briefed on the situation — and given pointers on do’s and don’ts with your child. Family members will be no doubt talking about you and the divorce anyways (because people are gossiping assholes), but they all need to hear it from the horse’s mouth, including any and all visitation arrangements.

10. Eventually move on. Sooner than later. Don’t let the hurt consume your years. It does more damage to yourself and to your kids. Do you want your son or daughter to see you as this miserable, damaged angry man or woman? By all means, grieve a bit, get mad, but then get back to being the best person and parent you can be — without emotional baggage. And if that means you need to go see a shrinky-dink, then do it.

Divorce could happen to anyone. And it usually destroys everyone involved. At least temporarily. It can feel like a death. But it’s not. I hear divorce survival rates are really high.

Related post: How Splitting Up Made Us Better Parents

You’re Missing Everything

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To the father of my children, a stranger in familiar skin, I’m not mad at you. I’m sad for you.

You’re missing everything.

I looked at you as I dropped my heart into your apartment this past Friday, the first time you’d had the boys in over a month, and once again was reminded of your reality. I saw the emptiness in your eyes. The same emptiness I always saw. The same emptiness I tried to fill with me. With my love. With your sons.

I heard the rasp in your voice that came from smoking too many cigarettes the night before. I knew you’d slept all day long because you were too sick to move. I understood you felt like death and I knew you weren’t going to be able to follow through on your obligation to our sons.

I smelled your hangover. And I remembered seeing you like this every weekend for years. I felt my heart sink into my stomach as I pushed down the pain of both seeing you like this and having to leave my sons in your care. The pain of the memories it brought back like a flood.

I smiled at you and pretended everything was fine. I pretended not to notice the truth, only asking if you felt OK.

You told me you were fine, but I knew better.

You’re not fine.

And you’re missing everything.

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You’re supposed to be a man. A man they look up to and admire. A man they want to be like when they grow up. A man that teaches them how to be men. A man they can rely on.

But you’re not.

Oh, they love you. And right now, they even look up to you. But you’re not teaching them how to be men, and they certainly can’t rely on you.

You texted me that same night, only a few hours after I left you, and I knew what you refused to admit.

“I know you’re not gonna want to hear this and you’re probably going to use it against me somehow, but I’m throwing up really bad and I can’t stop sweating. It’s kinda scaring me. And no, I haven’t drank.”

I knew you were in alcohol withdrawal. I could see it coming hours earlier. This wasn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.

To be honest, I was relieved you texted. Even without your admission or recognition of the true source of your sickness, I was happy to bring my boys back home. My mama gut knew they needed me and that you were in no state to care for them. So thank you, for at least being smart enough to admit you couldn’t do it that night. Even if you can’t admit why.

I no longer feel anger toward you. At least, not in the same ways I did before. Now, it’s sadness that consumes me when I see you. I pity your situation and the people who fall for your lies and flattery. I wish it was different. But I’ve let you go.

I didn’t want to wish that you’d let the boys go, but the reality is, you already have.

While you’re drinking away your time with them, I’m drinking in every minute.

While you screw God knows who, I’m the one teaching them how to screw the nails into their plastic tool bench.

While you sleep, snuggling your hang over, I’m snuggling our children.

While you’re “dating” several people, well, so am I. 3 to be exact. But mine are loves that will last a lifetime, where yours will only last a night.

While you make excuses, I’m making memories.

And you’re missing everything.

When you do spend time with them, you waste time texting me funny things they’ve said, forgetting that I’m with them all the time.

I know they’re hilarious.

You get surprised by the things they know and tell me like it’s new news to us both.

I know they’re smart. I’m the one teaching them the things they know.

You get surprised when you see them hug and love on each other.

I know they’re sweet. They learned how to love from me.

While you selfishly live only for yourself, lost in this life you claim to love, you’re missing everything.

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You don’t know that Ethan likes to be swung high on the swing, but only from the front so he can see my face. You don’t know that Connor likes to be swung too, but “only a tiny bit,” because going too high scares him. You don’t know that the boys have started dressing themselves but Ethan puts his arms in first and then his head, and Connor does the opposite. You don’t know their favorite foods or their favorite songs or their favorite games. You don’t know that they all love to dance. You don’t know that Luke is equal parts wild and strong and sweet. You don’t know that Connor hides when he’s embarrassed. You don’t know that they want to play soccer and t-ball and they’re going to be really good at it.

You likely won’t be there for their practices and games. It’ll be me cheering them on, and it’ll be my face they search for in the stands.

You don’t know how to teach them to be gentlemen because you’re still a lost little boy yourself.

You’re missing everything.

When they were born, my world changed. Yours stayed the same. You missed the beauty of what we created together and the depth of your role. You never really wanted that role. But you took it on. And now you’re missing everything.

I’m not mad at you anymore. I’m just sad for you. Because you are missing everything. And I’m not.

Related post: An Open Apology To My Kids On The Subject Of My Divorce

50/50 Custody Isn’t Lucky

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“God, you’re so lucky you have every other weekend off. I would do anything for some time away from these kids, they are killing me!”

I hear this often from my friends, all of my friends, actually. They are still married to the person they had their kids with. They still go home to their house every night together.

Her husband still sleeps in bed with her, the kids crawl in. Every night. Every night she gets to smell her baby’s head, make her family dinner, gets hugs with dirty hands and unwashed faces. Every night, she gets to look into their eyes and know that they are okay or if they aren’t and need to talk. Every night.

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I get my kids 50% of the time, the rest of the time they are with their dad. 50/50 custody. We work together well for the sake of the children, we are not perfect at it, but I think we are better than most, we rearrange our time for each other if needed. We both work outside the home and we both have to work. We have to support two households. That means, two blenders, toasters, dishwashers, washing machines and yes, two sets of bedrooms and living rooms and dining rooms. We both have those rooms empty 50% of the time.

My heart aches every time I say goodbye to them as they go off with their dad. My arms feel like dead weights and they drag me down unable to move freely. I start to worry almost immediately, what if they get a cold, what if they have nightmares, what if they have a great day, what if they have a bad day, what if they make a new friend, what if they fight with a friend, what if they feel lonely, what if they don’t. I don’t know. 50% of the time I cannot see that, I don’t know. I pray and hope they are okay, that they are laughing and happy and they are, in the end.

They come home; they run into my arms and start chattering like a bunch of monkeys at full volume. “Guess what mom, I got a 100 on my spelling test. Guess what mom, I skinned my knee and it bleeded. Guess what mom, I got my math right today. Mom, my library book is at your house” and there it is, “your house”. Not our house, “your house”, my house.

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They have two, they have mine and they have their dads. So as they are chattering away and I am smiling, hugging, nodding and consoling, I think back to a wedding day filled with promise and what I thought was unending love. I reach down and I hug them tight, my arms lighter, my heart so full I could burst and I try so hard to not cry. Not because they are home, but because they will only be home until they go back. And I cry because their lives are two lives. I smile and they look at me with their big eyes and ask with a twisted grin “happy tears or sad tears?” My answer is always “Happy Tears”. They giggle like it’s our little secret, that my emotions escape me.

So, as I sit next my girlfriend and listen to her complain about her husband, and kids, and house, and, and, and… I think to myself “God, you are so lucky”.

Related post: An Apology To Single Parents

An Apology To Single Parents

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My husband is currently going to school and working nights which means he’s gone from the house from two in the afternoon until four in the morning, and then sleeps from about five in the morning until one in the afternoon at which point he gets up, eats, showers, plays with the kids for a few moments before heading out the door. This is happening five days a week and it’s been wearing on me. I’m home with my 1.5 year old son and 2.5 year old daughter all day every day. I love them.

I love them so much it hurts sometimes.

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But between boundary testing, potty training, and tantrums because the sky is blue, I am tired.

I am so tired that I said something really, really dumb. I told my husband that because of his work and school schedule right now…I feel like a single parent.

That is the stupidest thing I’ve said in recent time.

The fact is that I am not a single parent.

I do have a husband who is out working hard and going to school which allows me to stay home with my challenging and trying toddlers. The fact is that if I needed him to come home for some reason, he’d be in the car before we even got off the phone. The fact is, no matter what my warped sense of perception is, I’m not a single parent. Not even close.

I don’t know what it’s like to work all day and then be both mom and dad. I don’t know what it’s like to be so exhausted and just want a reprieve which I may be unable to get. I’ll never know the weight of decisions a single parent must face, and I can’t fathom the struggles and fears that encompass their heart day in and day out.

So to all of the single parents out there, I’m sorry.

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I’m sorry for taking what I have for granted. I’m sorry for being insensitive and pithy and downright whiny. I’m sorry to make light of a situation I can’t even wrap my mind around.

And, actually, I’m sorry for even apologizing. You don’t need it.

You’re doing just fine on your own.

Related post: How To Survive as a Newly Single Parent