Divorce

  I volunteer. I do Pilates. I run. Generally speaking, I look like a fairly put together person. I have a decent job. I’m well-spoken. If we met at Java Mama, a BREC park, or an LSU watch party, you’d have no clue that I had been going home to a physically and emotionally abusive relationship for nearly two years. Through countless counseling sessions and conversations with friends and family, I got myself and my daughter out. Recently, on the Betrayal Trauma Recovery podcast, I heard a guest say “an isolated victim is a controlled victim.” I’ve now realized the severely awful times were the times I was isolating myself from others. I was kicked, choked, slapped, called a sl*t, etc....

My parents would have been married for 35 years this month, had they not divorced when I was a teenager 20 years ago. Somehow, very briefly, it came up in a very general conversation with a close friend recently, and I haven't been able to shake feelings about it since. My younger sister has very vague memories of our time "as a family" and my brother has none as he was only four years old when they divorced. I have all the memories of a whole different life a whole lifetime ago. I remember so many good times, so many picturesque flashes of happiness, so much fun. Equal amounts of fights, so many tears, so much bitterness also populate these...

  Josiah is my SON ... he is my Bonus Son. But he is NOT my Stepson. Many of you may not know that I did not give birth to my “first born” Josiah. That, however, won’t stop me from swapping the sugar and salt in your canisters. Josiah is so much a part of me that if you don’t know I didn’t carry him for nine months, you just may not know. In fact, you won’t even find my siblings or father calling him “step.” Of course having a “Bonus Son” means I also have a co-parent. And that is where some would usually grab the popcorn and blanket. But this is the REMIX. Many co-parent stories start with the Wicked...

I recently read that 50% of America's children will see their parents divorce.  That one statement hit me like a ton of bricks, but sadly I can relate.  I was raised in a divorced home, and now my dear son is living it too. I was married at the mere age of 20 years old.  I was told to wait, I was told to think things over before I rushed into a marriage, but like I said, I was 20 years old.  At 20, I had just enough freedom to know that I was the one who made decisions in my life, and with that knowledge my boyfriend and I got married.  A short three months later the little white and pink...