Divorce sucks.

Seems pretty obvious, right?  Divorce sucks.  

Well, it's supposed to.  That's the point.  Stay married because divorce sucks.

You're weak if you give up on your marriage.  You're a coward if you run away from your commitments, especially the one to give your children an intact home.  There's no problem so insurmountable, no reason so set in stone, no excuse that makes divorce excusable.

Except what if there is?  What if you fought like hell until you were broken beyond repair?  What if the home you were holding onto was nothing you want those children to move into on their own?  What if divorce is the only answer?

Nope.  Even then, divorce sucks.

It's watching their little faces disappear behind an old apartment door.

It's late night pleas to come give them hugs.

It's excited squeals when he promises them the world.

It's their first firsts that happened on his weekend.

It's arguing over things that never mattered before he packed up his truck.

It's lonely Sunday mornings spent crying in a quiet house that never felt so empty.

It's realizing his control didn't walk out the door with him, it's only gotten stronger.

And.  It.  Sucks.

There are good and valid reasons for divorce.  There are situations so desperate that there really is no other answer.  There are people trying really hard to do the right thing for their children, even in the face of a crowd yelling that they're wrong.

And there are people who, despite the monumental effort it takes at each step, still think sometimes it isn't worth the fight.  Who still sometimes wonder if they shouldn't have just stayed.  People who get so worn down in the struggle.  Who just want divorce to not suck for ten minutes.

If you ask me, and some actually have, don't get divorced.  If you're just tired of the way he ignores you or tired of the way she treats you, stay for as long as you can.  Show up and stand in your marriage, even past the point you marked in the sand as "breaking".

Because divorce sucks.  A lot.

If you're hearing applause, it's in your head

I am a parent.  Have been now for 13 years, 3 months, 28 days, 7 hours - if you don't count the 44 weeks I was a mama before Sofia was where the world could see her.

I have been on duty for every minute of that time, but I'm not a mathematician so I cannot calculate that number for you.  What I can tell you, however, is that parenting is hard.  And, very often, it's not even a little fun.  There's a mountain of work required to call yourself a parent.

And not a single bit of it is done for an audience.  Not a drop of it can be shown on a receipt.

It's sweaty soccer socks and dirty kid panties being washed at 4am because you found them thrown behind the dresser.

It's the hours and hours and days and days of doctors office waiting rooms holding a kid whose nose is basically glued to your shirt with more fluid than can be held in a McBiggie cup.

It's standing in the rain/blazing sun/whiteout blizzard with them while they splash in puddles or practice their new dives or speed headfirst down the backyard slopes.

And it's cleaning... Behind ears and under toilet seats, blowout diapers and projectile vomit, mashed peaches and urine soaked carpets.  It's vacuuming suspicious things because you're afraid to touch them.  It's changing sheets at 2am.  It's bringing fresh clothes to the nurse's office.  

It's quiet.  It's listening to the same story again because they still giggle at the end.  It's calming tears from an hour away because there's nothing else to be done.  It's knowing your children, all of them, whether you understand their passions or not.  

Parenting is regardless.

Of your needs.

Of your schedule.

Of your agenda.

Of you.

Parenting is a lot of work. Boring, mundane, no-accolade work.  It's hard and it is, mostly, thankless. It's not done to impress or sway public opinion.  So, if you're only going to put on an act for the audience, step to the left.  Real parenting is done right.