When I found out my parents were getting a divorce, I was relieved. For some reason, I knew this was a step in the right direction for both my parents; what I didn't know was the difficult half-decade battle would overshadow my life. Graduating only a few days ago, I am now back in my house, living in the bedroom I grew up in. It's hard enough to move back after you have tasted the freedom of college, but what makes it even worse is that I am now an adult, trapped in a house with a constant tone of anxiety looming from my parent's divorce. It's hard to make a new start in a home that constantly reminds you of the past.

Since my parent's divorce, I have had to make significant changes in my own life. I juggle relationships with both parents, while I often feel like a pawn in their divorce game. Instead of having the luxury of my parent's assisting me in my first apartment, they have squandered a copious amount of money on lawyer's fees. Everyday is a struggle. Your mom says, "ask your father", and your father says, "ask your mother". All the small things that get to you eventually snowball, creating anger and emotions you never thought you had in you. The hardest part is not letting it spill over into your life — snapping at friends, letting your grades drop, even gaining weight because you don't have the energy to exercise.

In all cases my world has been turned upside-down for a reason that didn't even involve me in the first place. It can be very difficult not to resent, or even hate, your parents for making you feel so abandoned. They forget that, just because you act like an adult and you pretend to be strong because you are sick of crying, you are still a child on the inside, looking for reassurance and comfort.

The religious ping-pong — I can only speak on my experiences and give my opinion about what worked for me, so if it matches what you are going through, great! 

My father is Catholic and my mother is born-again Christian.  When my parents married my dad got baptized and became born-again.  We practiced born-again Christianity every Sunday like a good little family should.  When my parents divorced, my father actually didn't go to church for a while until he met his new wife, who was and is Catholic.  So surprise, surprise — my father switched back to Catholicism.

I never worried about which church to go to up until this point because I had been going to the same church my whole life.  One weekend my father took me to Catholic Church with him and I was so confused.  I didn't understand all the sit, kneel, stand, sign of the cross, sit, stand, kneel, sit, stand, and "also with you" stuff.  I gradually learned over time what to do and was fine. 

You might say to yourself, "Well they were both Christian; how different could the two churches be?"  Well, I went to the Church of Christ, which is the staunchest church you can go to.  They don't even have instrumental music because it wasn't ordained in the New Testament.  The Catholic Church has huge organs that bellow out sound from all corners of the building.  At the Church of Christ there are no statues representing Christ dying on the cross, Saints, or anything else because that is considered idolatry and they also believe that you must be baptized in water and be completely submerged in order to wash away your sins.  No sprinkling of water like in the Catholic Church.  They also don't believe in baptizing babies because babies have no sin (and trust me, with Catholics that starts a whole new conversation).

I was that child that didn't want to go to Daddy's. Nobody was cruel. I wasn't beaten, or denied food and shelter — I just didn't want to go. We didn't really do anything at my Dad's. We "hung out". Which is fine when you have your friends and your toys, your books, etc. But when you've got nothing but your sleeping bag (see earlier blog), it's kind of dull. But there was more to it than just boredom. I felt secure with my Mom, and I wanted to stay with her and the things I knew rather than go to my Dad's where there were new and unknown things. There was a new stepmother, and her whole family, and while they were all very nice (I even called my stepmother's mother Grandma Ellen) — it was all so different. And I didn't know my place. As a 5 year-old, I wasn't much of an adventurer, I guess.

And so, for these reasons, and some others I've left out — I didn't want to go to my Dad's. And maybe your child doesn't either. What do you do? I decided to ask my Mom what she did. She told me that when we were young, she just made us (though she did admit to a time or two when I made such a fuss that she threw in the towel and called up and told my Dad that we were sick). She said that she spoke to me about why I didn't want to go and tried to talk to my Dad and Stepmom, etc. but that what she realized was that I was right. That my Dad and Stepmom were different from her, and that the life we lived with them was different from the life that we lived with her. While we may not have liked it, and while she may not have liked it — different wasn't necessarily bad, and she couldn't prevent our father from seeing us. And it was probably for the best. I suppose it taught me about making the best of things, and about discovering that something you fear (like a new stepfamily) can turn into something you enjoy.

It never ceases to amuse me that, as a straight male in my 30's, I still feel much more comfortable around women than men. With women, I can always be myself. With men, I usually feel out of my element, as if I don't quite belong. I have no problems saying "dude", exchanging high-fives, or cheering for my favorite football team. But ultimately, as much as I feel (and, thankfully, look) like a man, I never feel totally comfortable when I'm actually with men.

I've always suspected the culprit is that I spent much of my life without a Dad around. As I mentioned in my previous post, my Mom had sole custody of me. I had weekend visits with my Dad until I was 6, at which point my Mom and I moved to another state. From that point on, contact with my Dad became less frequent. Weekend visits became brief annual visits. By the time I was 18, I probably spent no more than 10 hours a year actually communicating with my Dad.

In short, I had no male "role model" for much of my life. I don't say this as a criticism of my Dad in any way. I say it as an unfortunate consequence of child custody.

According to the experts, child custody is very different today than when I was a child. More men are seeking custody, and more men are eager to be involved in their children's lives. While this probably makes for increasingly contentious custody battles, I think it's ultimately a good sign — for children, at least. While you may be cursing your Ex for demanding (or receiving) significant time with your children, as long as he's a good father who really cares about your children, there's probably a silver lining in there somewhere.

I always had very special relationships with both my parents growing up. My father is very athletic, so whenever he had free time I would find myself playing golf or playing paddle tennis with him. When my older sister went off to college and my dad wasn't around that often, my mother and I became a team, always doing something together. I would run errands with her and she would go shopping with me.

She always encouraged honesty from me; no matter what the issue was which promoted an open line of communication, boyfriends, smoking and other high school issues were never taboo. My mom always trusted me and, as a result, I always trusted her.

Some of the worst memories I have of my parent's divorce are of times when my parents overly confided in me. My freshman year of college, when I was still on the swim team, I received a phone call from my dad. At the time I was in Florida, gearing up for a day of strenuous swimming and exercise. My dad was hysterical and apologetic about everything that had happened between my parents, and I didn't have the heart to hang up. For the rest of the time I was on training trip, my performance hindered because of that phone call. Looking back, I shouldn't have let it get to me, but it made me realize how unfair it was to burden me at a point when my athletic performance demanded mental stability. Sometimes I look back and wonder if part of the reason I quit swimming was because I couldn't perform with the family stress and anxiety that surrounded me at the time.

I was originally asked to write an article on "Making Unified Family Rules". However, after a few pathetic stabs at that topic, I realized it just wasn't something I could write about. My Mom had sole custody of me from day one, so I didn't really live in "two households". If you are looking for information on that topic, you should check out Debbie Nigro's interview with Dr. Scott Halzman here.

Instead, I'm using this article to discuss something I know intimately: What Moms can do when their ex isn't being much of a Dad to their child(ren).

My Dad and I have a great relationship. We're not close, but we talk every couple of months to catch up and share a good laugh. On birthdays, we send each other novelty gifts -- the kind of things women find immature and men find hysterical. It may sound silly, but this relationship means something to me, because ten years ago, we hardly had a relationship at all. And, interestingly, if it weren't for my Mom, I don't know that we'd ever have a relationship.

For most of my life, my Dad wasn't really interested in being a Dad. When we still lived in the same state, he was pretty good about showing up for weekend visits. But, even as a child, I knew there was something perfunctory about it all. I could tell spending time with me was more an obligation than a desire.

When my Mom and I moved halfway across the country, I saw much less of my Dad, of course. But it's when I did see him that I was most disappointed. Dad would fly out for a week-long visit with me, but then have to fly home after four days. He'd concoct some story about work, but I knew it was an excuse. I was crushed. My Dad didn't like me.

I spent over 10 years going to my Dad's House every other weekend, being picked-up on Friday and dropped off on Sunday, and if there is one thing I would share it's this — Insist that your Ex pick-up and drop-off the children.

My parents didn't really get along while I was growing up. My Dad never paid his very meager child support and my Mom was always going after him for it. As a result, I think my Dad did everything in his power to avoid my Mom. And this is the thing about the drop-off — its one time, every week, where they had to see each other. Only they didn't. As soon as my Step-mother was in the picture, my Dad sent her in his place. Right now you're probably asking yourself, like my Mother asked herself, "Well, what am I supposed to do about the way he behaves?" You probably feel that your hands are tied, and maybe they are. So all I want to suggest is this: Try. If he's avoiding you, and the drop-off altogether, by sending a stepmother, girlfriend, relative — talk to him. My Dad wasn't a "Bad Guy". He was just taking the easy way out, and I guess what I'm suggesting is that you make that a little harder for him to do.

It was a Saturday; I remember the morning distinctly because that was when it happened. I was sat down in a big brown and cozy recliner and told by my Father that he was moving out, along with some cock and bull filler words. You know the kind they use to make bologna in those huge factories? Anywho, I guess you could call me a lucky sod; I slept almost the entire day! Lucky AJ! Not really.

It's a strange kind of feeling when you walk down the stairs after taking a four-hour nap, step onto the living room carpet, and suddenly you look into the book case and the orange Disney trolley complete with goofy, Pluto, Donald duck, Mikey, and Minnie is suddenly gone. It's even stranger when you therefore realize that you haven't looked at that trolley since you were eight years old. Then, as you walk down the hallway leading into the kitchen you  notice that someone has removed your favorite hanging poem "Foot Prints" from the wall, and the nail that went along with it. It was then that it dawned on me that Dad was gone already. At first it was kind of Twilight-zoney, you know? But then I started to think and list off in my head everything that was gone. Suddenly, that trolley car meant more to me than all my limbs and extremities combined! And damn straight I wanted it back!! I'll have you know, I never got that trolley back.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, "kids aren't stupid" and they are very intuitive.  I never saw my parents fight or even raise their voices to each other, but I knew they weren't happy.  There was simply a shift in their behavior that didn't seem quite right to me.  They didn't seem quite as affectionate as before.  I noticed my dad started working longer hours than usual.  My mother started taking me on more weekend getaway trips out of town.  So what did I do when this started happening?  I asked my parents up front "What's going on?" 

Now I'm sure most kids aren't like me ... as a matter of fact, I know most kids aren't like me.  Most would probably become shy little snails, some would lash out with bad behavior and others might even try hurting themselves because they feel in some strange way that the divorce is their fault.  I never had that opportunity because of the forethought of my parents.

At an early age I got involved in the performing arts.  I started the drama club at my elementary school because I wanted to be on stage.  When my parents started the divorce process they really ramped up my involvement in performing so I was too distracted to see all the rest of the stuff that was going on in the background of my life.  As I stated in an earlier article my parents thought out everything they did concerning my upbringing and I see it more now (of course) than I did then.  They tried to keep my life as "normal" as possible and I thank them for that.  My father and mother took me to rehearsals and helped with fund raising for special events and they attended all my performances, of which there were many.  They were both really involved in my life and made me feel secure that I had a strong "family" foundation even though my parents weren't in the same home.

The basic and average family unit consists of one maternal unit, one paternal unit, and on average two child units. This is the way children (including myself) are taught. That is what they believe to be unequivocally true along with such things as 2+2=4 and their ABC's. What divorce is, in the most stripped-down and harshest of terms, is the destruction of the basic family unit and a core belief in your child. 

Depending on age and lifestyle-based circumstances, I guess you could say that your child will be affected in millions of different ways and possibilities than the kid next door or even me. That being said, I bet you're wondering, "What about my teenager? How will s/he deal with this?" It's floating somewhere in your mind, and frankly, it's a matter of great concern.

I was a few months into my sixteenth year of life when my parents decided to get a divorce. Granted, it was more of a one-sided decision, but that's a story for another day. Right now, let's just focus on your teenager. Firstly, we know that your teen is very in tune with their family unit, they've had at least thirteen years to get used to it, and probably have become attached to it by now. We also can safely assume that they observe, and mentally note the matter that their parents have been fighting an awful lot. Well, I'm going to share with you a secret about your teen. They're afraid of a lot of things, even if under torture they would never admit it! In the back of their heads, every time a huge argument breaks out in the house is this little thought bubble that asks "What if Mom and Dad got divorced?".