My parents are divorced. They have been for quite some time now. Often when I'm up at school, I enjoy the luxury of feigned ignorance. Giving Mom or Dad a quick call is as simple as if they occupied the same space. When I come home, however, that semblance of unity divides. Two homes, two schedules, two timetables. The divide is all but palpable, and as long as one remains within the sphere of the homestead, it permeates nearly every aspect of one's life. And, given the circumstances, this paradigm is the generator for a good heap of mental and emotional stress. Despite all my misgivings, however, I do not blame either of my parents for the present state of affairs.

Indeed, you may anger as much as you like before and after the fact, but at the end of the day, you find the conclusion that some things-- and some people-- just weren't meant to last. Not to say that folks are perfect, but pointing fingers at one spouse or another hardly accomplishes anything. Perhaps they aren't blameless, but prosecuting an alleged "guilty" parent won't make you feel any better. Similarly, you must also be certain not to throw any undue blame on oneself. Though I have not encountered this issue, one does occasionally hear stories of kids faulting themselves for dissolution of a marriage, or may even go so far as to attack their siblings under the same argument. This is hardly healthy, nor does it make logical sense. Most of us, I wager, were far too young to manipulate or pit our parents against one another; moreover, the nature of divorce is a fissure of adults with other adults, not with their children.

Indeed, digesting responsibilities is always a step in the right direction, but it cannot encapsulate all the other tacks one stumbles upon down the road. Living situations, holidays, vacations, birthdays, last names, and similar matters all take on a new and alien lenses as one moves forward in a separated household. Chief among these, I find, are the emergence and acceptance of step-relations and extended family. For those that grew up in single parent homes, the notion of your familial guardian going out on dates and taking lovers, I suspect, isn't a particularly bizarre occurrence. At the same time, for those born into married families like myself, meeting our folks' romantic partners and attempting to fit them into our lives can prove fairly daunting. The gold standard, when it manifests, is that the newfound amore treats both our parent and ourselves with respect, and ideally clicks with our personalities in the platonic sense as much as they do with our blood relation. And yet, the reality is not always so kind.

Whether they be friends or family, it is never easy to accept others into our lives. Regardless of the individual's moral credo, there is, I find, an inherent discomfort when it comes to adopting new members into the household. Having a new face navigating spaces that were originally our own, and adding their own agendas and ideologies into the mix, can be a challenging thing indeed. There are many ways to cope with this predicament, but above all, one must never be afraid to set boundaries on that what can and can't be compromised. Traversing the divorced landscape asks much of those affected, and though everyone's experience is unique, I am want to think there is a skeletal universality when it comes to the phenomena. Though things may seem bleak at times, the situation is never without love or hope. The worst we can do is fall into a pitfall of static thinking. The process never stands still, and in fact, it is only ever perpetually ongoing.