I’ve Never Seen My Parents Kiss

I’ve often heard people tell the story of their parent’s divorce. They look sad as they say it happened when they were 8, 10, 14, or some other age at which they were aware of what was going, and I’ve always pitied them for it. My parents got divorced so soon after I was born that I never really identified with the other children of divorce. I felt like I had no basis for comparison; I have no memory of the before, and I wasn’t even cognizant of the divorce as it happened. I’d usually shrug my shoulders, act like it didn’t affect me, and reserve my pity for the real victims: those who were old enough to be conscious of what was happening as it happened. But recently, I’ve begun to reconsider.

A baby, of course, isn’t aware of what’s happening in a classic sense, but they’re still sensitive to it. You argue around an infant, and even though they might not know what’s being said, it can still be very upsetting for them. In light of this realization and others, I can reframe it, and I’ve concluded I may have actually been more affected by my parent’s divorce than someone who was old enough to be aware of it.

They separated when I was 18 months old. I don’t know what the arrangement to follow in those early days was, but I know my parents could no longer occupy the same space, which means that I would have to spend basically all of time away from one of them.

We sometimes construe trauma as something with an intellectual base, meaning that if we can forget what happened that the damage would be undone. But the science shows differently. In fact, the period when we seem to be the most susceptible to certain epigenetic changes is in the very first years of our life. I’m no scientist, but I’ve read enough studies on the brain to know, for example, that when a child is neglected at this age they undergo an epigenetic response that methylates their oxytocin receptor gene and messes with their ability to form attachments throughout life.

Of course, I don’t remember much of anything from those earliest years, but I do have scattered memories, and when I was denying any impact from my parent’s divorce, I never really recognized how unusual some of what I experienced in my first few years of childhood really was. For instance, I used to be scared of my dad, and I don’t mean when he was cross with me. I remember, when he would come to pick me up at a very young age, thinking to myself, I don’t want to leave with that strange man. And at no point was my father an absent father — I still must’ve been seeing him regularly — but with my parent’s living apart, that’s how detached I naturally came to feel towards him.

I also always felt very paranoid about my mother’s safety when I was away from her. When I was old enough to start school, and we’d call my mom on the phone, I’d breakdown emotionally if she didn’t answer after the first or second call. I would honestly believe she died or was in serious danger. I had always attributed that to the husband she had, after my dad, who hit her in front of me, but it’s hard for me to know for sure when those fears started. In my memory, they were just always there.

All the sequelae of divorce are equally present for us kids of pre-cognizant divorces. Contrary to my long-held beliefs that I was less affected by them because I wasn’t aware of them, or old enough to really appreciate the significance, these were likely more impactful as well. On its face, I always thought the experience would be hardest for someone in early adolescence. But a 14 year old, for example, can process what’s happening around them. They can demonstrate some volition and, with reasonable parents, choose to navigate the situation how they will.

I remember a process of being ripped from one home and forced into another over and over again all throughout my childhood. And it really was “ripped”: I’d fight to not have to go to my dad’s, but after spending a couple days there, with my stepbrother and other siblings, then I wouldn’t want to go back to my mom’s, but I was made to regardless. Then, at my mom’s, I’d enjoy being with her and playing with my friends outside, until I was yanked back to my other home.

It was odd because it even separated into competing teams at different points, but I was a player on both sides. One dramatic instance of this came, when I was maybe 8 years old, after my mom left me alone with my older cousin and his friend — both were drunk and/or high at the time — and they chased me around with aerosol cans and lighters, shooting flames at me, before hanging me upside down over the stairwell. Apparently, when my mom got home, I rushed out terrified and crying to greet her, but I never told her what happened.

I did, however, later detail what happened to my father, and a Child Protective Service’s case was opened as a result. When I next saw my mother and cousin, they acted as if I betrayed them. My mom asked me, with a frustrated and disappointed tone, “Why didn’t you tell me anything?” And they spoke on it as if I had leaked a family matter outside of the family — even though everyone involved was my family. That aspect of divorce goes on a lot for kids caught in the middle of it.

At some point, you come to always be mindful of what you say about the goings-on at one house when you’re next at the other. I remember all these moments of distrust, as someone would look at someone else in the household, and give them a signal to stop talking, followed by them speaking in hushed tones, “He’ll run and tell his father,” or vice-versa. Not to be exaggerative, but it feels a little bit like constantly being suspected of being a traitor.

I remember, when I was 9 years old, my grandfather passed away. I woke up that morning, left my room, and started walking down the stairs, when I saw my mom and dad sitting together on the couch. An eerie feeling came over me — that image of the two of them sitting side-by-side, which I have no similar recollections of, alerted me that something was off. Only when they gave me the bad news of his passing did I understand why they were sitting there like people who liked each other.

Another thing that I might’ve naturally been lucky to avoid as a child of pre-cognizant divorce is the actual divorce proceedings. Considering how frigid my parent’s relationship with one another remained all the years to follow — and from the stories I’ve heard — I’m sure it was quite vitriolic. I likely did get spared some of this, while a child of an older age might’ve been more affected by it.

A teenager may have been privy to what was going on in regards to the legal proceedings, who was trying to get what from whom, what each side of the family now thought about the other side, and whatever their parents’ were venting about one another. I’m sure I was still witness to a number of shouting matches and slammed doors, but there’s a lot that goes into a divorce that wouldn’t affect a baby in any way

But again, all the same consequences of that decision are still there when you finally do come to an age at which you start to understand what’s going on. I believe I was around 12 when my mom sued my dad for child support (though it may have happened more than once and at different ages). I was taken to be deposed by both their lawyers. I remember sitting in my dad’s lawyer’s office in Coral Gables; I believe her name was Gloria. And I’d have to answer all these boring questions. It seemed to go on and on.

In my teenage years, another interesting phenomenon took place. There was a massive cultural shift between my two homes — one that couldn’t have happened without many years in the making. There was always a contrast between the two environments. My dad quickly remarried, and stayed married for twenty years. He had other children, his new wife had a son about my age, and my stepmom’s mom lived with us as well. It was familial: a packed house with a crowded table.

At my mom’s, things were different; it was me, her, and a seemingly never-ending stream of boyfriends. I have distinct recollections of six different men that lived with us over the course of my childhood, but I know there were more. She was always more lax with me and fun-seeking, whereas my dad was the strict parent.

In those later years, however, my mom had a partner with a major drug addiction problem, and he took her down with him. The house fell into a state of total neglect. Everything was filthy. Urine from our two dogs coated the floor, and ticks and fleas were everywhere. The kitchen counters were covered with grime, the carpet in my room was black (though it started out beige), and there were large moldy areas building up on the walls in places. I would live like that, and then I would go back to my dad’s where things were more or less normal.

At this stage of my life, I would actually come to feel out of place when I went back to my father’s house. I remember sitting around watching my stepbrother and younger siblings laugh and play, while thinking this was their life, not mine. We were maybe 16 or 17 and my stepbrother would go to work at Starbucks, and come home to talk about video games and anime all day. When just a week earlier, I had been performing chest compressions on my mom’s boyfriend after he overdosed. It really felt at this point like I was moving between different worlds and different lives. It felt like I had to be a different person based on where I woke up that morning.

A lot of these things are particular to my story, whereas I really wanted to touch on pre-cognizant divorce in general and how the children of it might be inclined to write off their experience, as they weren’t aware of the actual separation when it was taking place. But even the opportunity for the two households to diverge that far from each other is a symptom of just how early on the divorce took place.

I’ve never seen my parents kiss. But I have seen them fight. I have seen them take each other to court. I recall being forced to leave with one or the other, over and over again, when I didn’t want to go. I remember being treated like something of an outsider at each home — and I remember eventually coming to actually feel like an outsider.

I was wrong to act like just because I wasn’t aware of the divorce as it happened, and didn’t have anything to compare it to, that it didn’t have a massive effect on me. I hope that any other children of pre-cognizant divorce reading this will recognize the same in their lives.

In one of my favorite animes of all time, Naruto, there’s a scene where the eponymous main character is fighting with his best friend, Sasuke, while they have a conversation about their past. Both are orphans, but one lost their parents just after being born, while the other has memories of his parents being taken from him. At one point, Sasuke yells at Naruto, “What makes you think that you, who’s been all alone from the start, can understand anything about me?”

We need to stop treating trauma as something that only counts when we can remember it or have a baseline for comparison. Children of pre-cognizant divorce shouldn’t be sweeping their experiences under the rug.

Enjoy this article? I recommend following it up with this one: “How Writing Heals Trauma”