When the skeleton in your closet becomes the story of you.
Every other Sunday, I waited for the sound of my Dad’s VW camper van to hit my ears. I got all dressed up and stood by the window. I would hear the van about three minutes before I could see it, and my heart would be beating so, so fast. I really missed my Dad. Seeing him every other Sunday just wasn’t enough time, but I wasn’t given much choice in the matter. My parents didn’t speak to each other, and I didn’t speak up.
This wanting and needing more—and not knowing how to make it happen—is one of the driving forces behind my need to share about my divorce when my kids were in the picture. The pain of that 1973 child custody arrangement is still with me. Thankfully, I have had partners that are also interested in what is best for the kids. They have put personal agendas aside and frankly forgiven me.
For me, ceremony played a big role in my healing and in my children’s understanding of what was happening. The skeletons in my closet that became the story of who I am also created this desire to make rituals around everything—including endings. I’ve found that acknowledging the end of something big in a tangible way can make miracles occur for all involved. When the children in our lives see their parents work through the messy stuff with honor and grace, it speaks volumes. I won’t know for sure until they are older, but through this, I believe I help my children find peace with change so they don’t have to the spend years and tons of money as I’ve had to in order to heal from the pain of unspoken needs and wants.