My ex-husband has always marched to the beat of his own drum. Whether it was pursuing his MBA, tackling household projects, or making life changes, he preferred to do things in his own time—most often in sporadic bursts of energy. There were moments of motivation sparked by something he’d seen or heard, but generally, he was a laid-back individual.
I recall a time—before everything unraveled—when he took a couple of our kids to a cabin owned by his college buddy for a weekend getaway (which was honestly a blessing for me). It meant I was left home with just our youngest child, and I’m fairly certain that if I hadn’t been nursing, he would have tried to take that one too.
So, let me clarify: he wasn’t the worst person in the world. For a significant period, he was a decent father and husband.
Upon returning from that weekend retreat, he was suddenly brimming with excitement about our marriage, parenting, and life in general. I was taken aback—this was a man who usually had the enthusiasm of a hibernating bear. Was he influenced by something at the cabin? Had he discovered essential oils or joined a cult?
This newfound passion for being a husband and father was a bit unsettling in retrospect. I mean, don’t most people have at least a modicum of zeal for life?
Shortly after his return, I found myself in our creepy basement, preparing to clean out the litter box when he came over, took the scooper and bag from my hands, squatted down, and started cleaning.
While he worked, he said, “I learned so much from Steve this weekend.” I was intrigued, so I asked him to elaborate.
He explained, “He talked about how much he contributes at home, with the kids and everything.” He filled the bag quickly, shifting his weight. “It made me realize how much you do, and I haven’t appreciated you enough.”
If you’d asked me at that moment, I would have said it was the cat litter fumes making my eyes water. But honestly, it felt good to be recognized for my efforts. You know life is good when someone else handling cat waste feels like a badge of honor.
He went on about turning over a new leaf—literally, he said, “I’m turning a new leaf.” He promised to become more involved as a father and a more attentive husband. We enjoyed this new chapter for a while, but as is often the case with leaves, it eventually dried up and crumbled.
Fast forward to now: my kids have barely had a real relationship with their father for years. When he first left, he insisted the kids should live with me full-time, and I initially thought it was due to the heavy responsibility of raising four children. But as time passed and truths came to light, I realized it stemmed more from his fear of facing the chaos of parenting head-on with his new partner.
In the beginning, he played the role of the ideal divorced dad, dutifully picking the kids up every other weekend and two weeknights. That first summer, he even took them away for a week. We meticulously followed the holiday schedule, and I would sit down each January, marking my calendar with “K” for kids and “NK” for no kids—strange how quickly such tasks become routine after a divorce.
He attended two parent-teacher conferences post-divorce. Just two. He made an appearance at concerts and games, mostly standing in the back or near an exit, but he was there, and that mattered to the kids.
Kids notice effort. They can tell when someone is genuinely trying to be a part of their lives, and they certainly pick up on when that effort is lacking. Some kids will voice their feelings, asking questions like, “Where’s Dad? Why didn’t he come to the game?” Others may stay silent, but don’t be fooled. Their emotions will surface eventually, like squeezing into Spanx—what you try to hide will find a way to come out.
For some kids, it manifests as tantrums or tears. Others may wrestle with feelings of abandonment or inadequacy, losing themselves in video games or books, becoming withdrawn, or turning into the life of the party. The emotional fallout from my divorce has been the hardest part for me—not the blow to my self-esteem, the financial struggles, or the loss of a supportive extended family.
Watching my children cope with a father who gradually drifted away from their lives has been heartbreaking. I can only imagine the emotional toll it’s taken on them.
I worry. Even though we communicate openly about these feelings, I fear the nonchalant way their father comes and goes. I dread the idea that my sons might grow to believe families are as disposable as a used razor. I’m concerned my daughter might develop “daddy issues” or think abandoning one’s family is acceptable.
One of my quirky celebrity crushes, Andy Samberg, has a hilarious song titled “Cool Guys Don’t Look At Explosions.” It makes me laugh, but it resonates with me on a deeper level. It’s a nod to how so many men, including my ex, have done exactly that. They ignite a fire in the family and then stroll away. Mine left during the most chaotic time in our family’s life. Even when he was present, the bulk of the parenting responsibilities fell on me—every Monday morning, summer break, navigating puberty, and everything in between.
It’s been a challenge, but I managed it. The finish line isn’t too far off, and it’s becoming clearer.
Now, when the noise of childhood has faded into the calmer sounds of young adulthood, it might seem like an ideal moment for him to re-engage in parenting. Like finding a dog that’s already house-trained.
And that’s precisely what’s happening—at least with one of the kids. A relationship is blossoming, and I find myself genuinely happy about it. I even said out loud, “Better late than never.”
I will continue to remind my kids and anyone willing to listen that being part of someone’s life, no matter what stage they’re in, is valuable.
Is it fair? Not one bit. I can’t count the nights I collapsed into bed, exhausted from nurturing and caring for four kids without a partner. It feels akin to the Little Red Hen, who slaved away making a loaf of bread only to have someone waltz in at the end to enjoy it without contributing.
But it’s better than nothing. It’s better than never.
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In summary, while navigating the complexities of co-parenting after a divorce can be challenging, it’s essential to acknowledge the small victories and the importance of maintaining connections, even if they come later than expected.
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