A Broken Home No More

Married life was grand. Fun. Comfortable. Most of the time. She had heard marriage was hard. It would be a lot of work. It can’t be 50/50, it has to be 100/100. And she knew it was true. And so she gave 100 percent. Some days she gave 150 percent. And some days she wondered if this was what “marriage is hard” looked like. Because indeed, it was hard. She even suggested getting outside help a few times, but was informed that counseling wouldn’t improve anything. If there was any problem, it was all her. She needed to try harder. Be happier. Submit better. And maybe it was true. So she continued to love and to give and to work hard. Harder. Because a broken home was not an option for her.

Joy of joys and what a blessing, a gift. Little lives and smiles and soft baby skin. Ouchies to kiss, stories to read, life lessons to teach. Life was full and flying by. And many days were great, but some days were still hard. And then even more days were hard. Marriage is hard, and parenting is harder. So she gave and she gave and she gave. Not doing hard things was not even an option. Because now? Now there were even more precious little reasons why a broken home must never, ever be part of her story.

Time doesn’t stop and babies grow bigger. She was so proud of them. She loved them so much. But it was exhausting. Such a huge responsibility to teach young lives everything they would need to know to survive in the cruel world outside. But sometimes the cruel crept inside too. Sometimes the harsh she was trying to protect them from was coming from within the home. She was ashamed to admit sometimes it was coming from her too. And when she talked to him about creating a more loving home, he assured her it was fine. Everyone does these things. Everyone talks like this. It’s fine. We are normal. It will teach them real life skills. And so she tried to support him. Parents must be united, right? They must be unified. Not working together would increase the not-an-option risk of ending up as a broken home.

So she read all the books. Marriage books. Parenting books. How to get closer to God books. She scoured the internet for help. For insight. For solutions. Ways to parent her children. Ways to be a better wife. Mother. Person. She even talked to people she thought she could trust. Like her pastor. She asked for advice. It was hard. She didn’t want to share too much. But she knew something needed to change. So she kept it focused about her. Her issues. Her problems. How she was not enough. She was told that she just needed to try harder. Submit better. Pray more. Forgive often. Oh, and also make sure and be beautiful. So she tried. She tried hard to apply what she learned. She tried to take all the advice. She did everything she could to help herself, and to help her home. Her home that must never be broken.

The weight that she carried couldn’t be weighed on a scale. She didn’t even realize how heavy it was. She carried it to church but covered it up. She made sure to smile and hold hands with him and sit close together. She did love him, after all, and it was important people see them as loving and competent. She carried the weight when visiting friends, moms, coworkers. She shared the positives, but that was all. She carried that weight at home. And when the fights would come with the children around, she would just stop and agree. Because the children should not be given cause to worry. And it was just too heavy to fight for what she knew was right. And the times when he would ask for her opinion, she knew what to say. Because her true opinion wasn’t actually invited, just her agreeing with his. So she did. Because the kids needed to feel safe. Ending up as a broken home was not anywhere on her radar.

And a little more of her died each day. A little more withered and grew faint. She wondered if maybe he was right. If maybe the issues they dealt with were her fault. Maybe she was the real problem here.  Maybe the world would be a better place if she were no longer in it. If something were to happen and she were to no longer have life, then her family could carry on. And that might be ok, because in that specific scenario, a single parent home wouldn’t be considered a broken home. 

But she just couldn’t quite go there. 

And then one day she heard him, or saw him, or felt him – she doesn’t even remember exactly what – interacting with the children the way he did with her. And in that moment a light shone into a place in her soul that had been dark for far too long. The curtain was being pulled back. She was seeing things for how they really were. And she realized – this treatment is not ok. This way the family was functioning was not healthy. Her children were growing up seeing harmful behaviors as normal. Having unhealthy coping skills modeled to them. Love was no longer the driving force in the marriage or with the children. It was about control. Force. Looking good to others. Agreeing with him. Always him. And only him. And she realized something she had known before (surely she must have known this before) but never had words for: this life she was now living was broken. But she also realized that her story, by the grace of God, was not over yet. And her dreams of making sure her children never experienced a broken home suddenly stood before her with clarity and freshness and an absolute certainty.

So she gathered some friends. She looked for support. She found she was one of the lucky ones. She read and she listened and she educated herself and knew that so many who stood where she was standing had to stand there alone. And she was grateful for others to walk beside her. But ultimately, this journey and this decision were hers. Hers alone. Hers to live with before, hers to live with after. But she knew what must be done to ensure that her children not have to live in a broken home.

It was the hardest decision she had ever faced. But maybe it wasn’t.  Maybe it was easy. Can something be both hard and easy all at the same time? She knew that many would not understand.  But she looked into the eyes of her children and she knew.  She knew that they deserved the best.  They deserved love.  Freedom.  Grace. An environment to thrive and grow. And so she made her decision. Her children would not have to endure a broken home. 

Because her home now? It was broken. Very, very broken.

So she took her children and she fled to safety.

And she filed for divorce.

Divorce.

Turns out there are worse things than divorce for a family.

Then she started over. A single parent. Married no more. Definitely not what she had imagined when she said “I do.”

But her home became a healthy home. A place where both successes and mistakes-learned-from were celebrated. A place where love was the driving force. A place where healing was happening every day. And as she watched her children grow and interact and thrive, she knew. She knew she had made the right choice. A choice that actually reflected her goals from the very beginning.

After all, it was absolutely not an option that her children grow up in a broken home.  

And now it wasn’t.