Having divorced parents is a complex experience—one that shapes the way you view family, love, and stability. It’s not necessarily a tragic story, nor is it always an easy one. It’s an experience that comes with contradictions: relief and sadness, love and resentment, independence and longing.
I was young when my parents split, too young to fully grasp what was happening but old enough to sense the shift. At first, it was the logistics that stood out—the packing of bags every weekend, the drive from one house to another, the mental adjustment of switching between two different worlds. My parents’ homes felt like parallel universes, each with its own rhythm, rules, and even unspoken emotions. At my mom’s, the house was calm, filled with soft music and warm lighting. At my dad’s, life was louder, busier, more unpredictable.
The hardest part wasn’t necessarily the divorce itself but what came after: learning how to live in between. I became a master of adaptation, knowing what to say in one house versus the other, understanding which topics were safe and which ones would trigger a silence too heavy to bear. I learned to carry two different realities within me, and in doing so, I became hyper-aware of people’s emotions. When you grow up with divorced parents, you develop a kind of emotional intelligence that allows you to read a room instantly, to sense tension before it erupts, to navigate conversations with careful precision.
There were moments of sadness, especially on holidays. No matter how fair the arrangements were, no matter how much effort my parents put into making sure I felt loved, there was always a lingering sense of incompleteness. Christmas mornings spent at my dad’s meant missing the traditions at my mom’s. Birthdays were divided, one celebration never quite merging with the other. Even on the happiest occasions, there was a quiet awareness that something or someone was always missing.
But there were also unexpected gifts that came with this life. I developed an independence that many of my friends with intact families didn’t have. I learned to be comfortable with change, to handle transitions without losing my sense of self. I became adaptable, resilient. I also formed a unique relationship with each parent, one that might not have been possible had they stayed together. My mom became my safe space, the one who taught me patience and the importance of quiet strength. My dad became my source of adventure, the one who showed me how to take risks and laugh even when things went wrong.
Having divorced parents also changed the way I view relationships. I don’t believe in fairytales, but I do believe in effort. I understand that love alone isn’t enough to sustain a marriage; it requires communication, compromise, and a willingness to evolve together. At times, this awareness makes me hesitant to invest in love—there’s a part of me that fears history repeating itself. But it also makes me deeply appreciative of relationships that work, of people who choose to stay even when things get difficult.
Divorce is often painted as a tragedy, but in many cases, it’s simply a turning point. My parents’ divorce was not the end of my family; it was a reconfiguration. It was messy, painful, and complicated, but it also allowed them to be better parents, better individuals. They found their own happiness, and in doing so, they taught me that it’s okay to walk away from something that no longer serves you.
Growing up with divorced parents means learning that love is not about perfect endings but about growth, change, and sometimes, letting go. It’s a lesson that stays with you—not just in childhood, but in every stage of life.
Kate Mary