The unexpected lessons I learned from losing time with my kids, how hard it was for me to choose love and the miracles that happened when I did.

Divorce is hard, all on its own. The emotional toll, coupled with the financial stress and mental exhaustion are a few reasons why divorce is kept at the top of the “Most Stressful Events of a Human Being’s Life” list.

What isn’t in the “divorce manuscript” or in the acute perception of the two parties involved, is the impending sadness that is awaiting them just around the corner. A grief that is triggered when a parent inevitably loses time with their children far sooner than they had expected/planned for/or had hoped.

There are different degrees of this heartache. First, it’s letting your kids go somewhere away from you for a couple days.

• Then it’s a week.

• Then it’s an extended vacation.

• Then, it’s Christmas, Halloween, and Birthdays.

Sigh.

These are hard enough. And even though you know your kids are in someone else’s capable hands (albeit one could question this at times depending on the circumstance) it still hurts on a level that has never been touched before. You are powerless.

But, just like the first day of school drop off, you bawl your eyes out and then you quickly realize that life has to go on. You adjust, and you keep going.

Everything is seemingly ok, until the dreaded stage of adolescence knocks down your door.

Teenagers

Independence, autonomy, risk taking behaviors, trying on different likes and dislikes, defiance, surging hormones, growth, stubbornness and SnapChat. Peers, activities, fashion and outings all take a front seat to the parents. And although there are still many incredible moments exchanged between parent and child, for the most part the teens just aren’t interested in us anymore. As much as we may not like it, these tribulations and all the attitude in between, are a necessary part of human development.

This presents a whole new set of challenges to any parent, whether you are married or not.

But as a single parent, the stakes are even higher.

They have the power to choose where they want to spend the majority of their time, and it might not be with you.

I experienced this firsthand and pretty abruptly when one day, my 13-year-old boy told me that he wanted to stay at his dad's house, almost exclusively.

I broke.

Wait, you’re only 13. I still get you, don’t I? 

Right then the axes that held my world together physically shifted.

You see, in a traditional nuclear family, he’d have nowhere else to go, no other options. This dreaded scenario evades most mothers and fathers until closer to the end of high school or young adulthood. They have more time.

My mind ran.

But he has another option, he can choose his dad. 
He can't though, can he? 
Doesn't he know how much he needs me? Sure he does.
Shit, he for sure doesn't. 
All he cares about are his buddies and hockey, which is exactly how it should be at 13. 
I remember being 13. 
I can't force him. 
I don't want to force him. 
Why isn't he choosing me? 

Hang on...they could all do this. 

They will all eventually leave me.

I'm not ready for this, like really really not ready.

The grief that washed over me was like a tsunami without a warning. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I sobbed uncontrollably, rocking back and forth while sitting up in bed holding myself, my partner unable to console me. The tears didn’t stop. It felt like someone had ripped a layer of my skin off, a deep substratum that had been there since each of their birthdays. Intricately woven into my whole being, into who I was, one child at a time.

My mama soul was literally broken.

The reality is this initial, seemingly innocent request from my middle boy flooded me with a deeper truth that I wasn’t ready to accept yet; That my kids didn’t belong to me.

That they would eventually all leave and there was little I could do about it. In fact, it would be of dis-service to them if I stopped them.

I was getting an early snapshot of what my life would be like without my kids.

Wait a second God, you didn’t warn me about this. 
You didn’t prepare me for this. 
They are MY babies. 
I know their smells, the subtle wrinkles in their faces, the noises they make when something isn't right, I can feel their hurt like it is mine. 
They will always be with me, in this chasm of maternal energy, won't they? 
This place that I created to keep them from harm’s way, where I could feed their bellies with their favorite meals, listen intently to their stories, stare in wonder at all they are becoming and who they used to be and just love them. 
Here, 
with me. 

God calmly answered,
No.
They aren’t yours.

To top it all off, my kind son went from being the one (out of all my kids) that would consistently check in on me, always comment on my hairdo for the day, often seemed to notice small details like if I got my nails done, to being the opposite; dismissive, indifferent, angry and rude. No one in the family was sparred.

It felt like someone had cosmically swapped out my boy for a different one. I didn’t get it.

But then something happened, to me.

I could feel my own armoring start to build up, to protect MY broken heart and to defend MYSELF.

As if I was setting up an intricate domino set, one protective mechanism at a time. Guilt statements, justified actions, defensiveness, reactivity, anger and indifference.

Even though I fundamentally knew that all of these actions would only drive a larger wedge between us, I started telling myself the story that my son chose his dad over me. That he was a rude teen and that he needed to treat me better. That the pain of all of this was all written for me and I just had to live with it. I was blaming him, and his dad.

I had completely forgotten that I was responsible for my life AND our relationship and instead, I became the victim of circumstance. In fact, I globed on to this new narrative as if it were fact. And shocker, my teenage boy followed suit with more domino sets himself. 

Things naturally only got worse.

At this point I was given an exercise by a very trusted friend.

I was mindlessly venting to her one day about my boy and she said to me,

“You need to remember what you love or loved about your Ex Chantelle.”

“Huh?”

What's this got to do with HIM?

My teeth hurt.

“What do you mean?”

She went on to explain;

“I want you to grab your journal and write down all the things you loved about your ex-husband.

It’s the only way you’ll reach your son.”

Well, pffft.

After swallowing hard and feeling that pain in my teeth slowly move to the apex of my diaphragm, I took a deep breath and decided to GROW UP.

I grabbed my journal and proceeded to write down all the things I loved about my Ex. I had to reach deep at this point, under a thickly packed pile of resentment, some real hurt, and some complicated grief, but then I started to remember.

• He was a great storyteller.
• Man, did he make me laugh.
• He was such a natural athelete.
• He had a great laugh and really knew how to command a room.

Sitting there in my little living room, I let my heart remember and I could feel myself soften.

You see, I was right, it wasn’t actually about my Ex.

It was about ME. MY hurt and MY wounds related to our marriage failing. Those were stopping me from accessing my heart and consequently the heart of my kiddo’s as well.

So, it was on me to heal it, let it go, or soften its edges.

And that’s what I did.

From that point forward, my actions magically moved from ones rooted in fear and protection to ones rooted in love and curiosity.  

That simple exercise was the first step in a chain reaction, just like that first domino getting knocked over, forcing the others to fall, this started the process of me getting out of my own way.

It would have been easier for me to stay armored, to leave my structured domino configuration uprightly intact. I had after all, practiced and placed each piece strategically my whole life and the familiarity of it provided me with a false sense of security.

This would have looked like more dismissal, classic comments like “those teenagers”, a prickly surface to my entire way of being. and me constantly acting like I was “fine” when really my mama insides were in a million little pieces.

But my heart wouldn’t let me. I refused to just give up on my boy, and I innately knew that this was an important lesson for me to learn, for all my kids. I had to get past my protective layer and dig deep to reach him.

And because of how much I loved him, and how much I loathed surface living, it was a no-brainer. 

Ping! down the dominos fell.

Hey buddy, how was your day?

-fine.

Hey bud, great game tonight, you killed it.

-thanks mom.

Hi bud, wanna go for dinner with me?

-uh maybe. where? it depends.

Hi bud, Iisten to this song, the guitar string part is my favourite. Don’t forget about that big heart of yours, you'll always be my angel straight from heaven.

-thanks mom.

Hi bud, I noticed you totally dismiss me at the rink the other day, I need to talk to you about my line in the sand. You remember what's my most important thing right?

-yeah, clear communication. why what'd I do?

Hey bud, can I pick you up at school today?

-I guess. but why?

Hey bud, we need to come up with a new agreement, when can you meet me so that we can talk about it?

-uh friday I guess. but I might have plans.

And this is how it went for a long time, me intentionally trying to stay in his life and show up for him while still maintaining boundaries and not-abandoning myself in the process, and he being indifferent, hard to reach and dismissive.

This wasn’t easy for me. Behind the scenes I was using all my resources, asking for a ton of help and processing my side of things (the emotions and the sometimes unbearable frustrations) with my counsellor and a trusted few.

Fast forward to summer.

We were away on vacation. He was his usual reclusive self for the better part of our first week away. He didn’t include himself in conversations, declined invites to bonfires and card matches and hardly ever smiled. He continued to be rude to me and all his siblings. I was frustrated and on the verge of giving up.

And then one day, sometime during the second week, something wasn’t agreeing with my digestive system and I ended up with some related issues. These were bad enough that all I could think about was going to the washroom to get some relief…you know the ones.

While I was sitting on the thrown taking care of said issues, my boy asked me through the door,

“What are we having for dinner tonight Mom?”

Looking down while minding my business, I absentmindedly said,

“Uh, I don’t know, burgers I think.”

A pause. 

Did he leave?

And then,

“Isn’t that going to hurt your tummy more though?”

My eyes darted upward so that I could hear better.

“Sorry, what did you say?”

My ears keenly perked towards the closed bathroom door. My mind was no longer absent. 

“I’m just worried your stomach will hurt more cause it usually does when you eat greasy food.”

At this point I barely had my pants back on, skipped washing my hands and was standing right in front of him.

Holding him by each shoulder, I crouched down to his level and looked straight into his soft blue eyes. The previous muted and dull version of them that I had grown accustomed to over the last few months, had been replaced with a sparkly and very much alive version.
I could SEE that I had him back.

With tears in my eyes now, I quietly exclaimed,

“You’re back. I missed you so much.”

A shy smile and then,

“Yeah, I missed you too.”

And just like that, his armour fell. 

I had my boy back.

It’s been 2 years since this beautiful lesson landed on my lap and even though I may not see him as much as I’d like to (every other weekend instead of the week on/week off schedule), when we do see each other, it is authentic, real, respectful and always connective.

For me, the quantity of time with him is less relevant then the quality of our time together.

Today, every time I witness my son with his siblings laughing and carrying on or I feel him reach over and hug me, or he receives a heart-felt card from his older brother, or he offers to help me in the grocery store, I am so unbelievably present to what could have been had I stayed armored.

My heart swells, as I see and feel the ripple effect on my entire family of me choosing love over and over, and I am just so grateful.

Not only did it bring me closer to all my kids and them to each other, but it also brought me closer to ME. 
I learned that it was just as important for me to show up for ME as it was for me to show up for him. That healing my own sh*t allowed for me to get out of my own way, to find my heart and to consequently find his again too.

And this, my friends is why children are our biggest teachers. 

So, if you find yourself in this scenario, where your nest is emptier either earlier like me because of a divorce, or later because of age and stage, ask yourself, have I chosen LOVE?

The truth is, none of us get to keep them, but we all get to choose how we show up after they leave.

And although I know that sometimes no matter what we do, we can still lose them, I still think love is the answer, even if only for our own mama (and papa) hearts and souls.

That we consciously choose to re-fill our empty nests with love over and over so there’s very little real-estate left for its counterpart.

So, what’s your choice?

Love or fear?

xo

I received my son's consent to write and share this story. 
He chided, "Are you gonna to leave the "And his armour fell" part Mah?" 
"Yup, I sure am." 
He rolled his eyes and smiled.
 
Teenagers. Man do I love them.