I never gave much thought to how my parents divorce could have affected me. Memories of
my father in our apartment still flash before me like daguerreotypes: him shaving in the
bathroom after a shower, him in my room building legos with me, him and my mother
fighting by the door of the apartment. I was too young to remember our lives together, too
young to understand why they chose to be apart.

I got divorced earlier this year. Emotionally I was already separated. Our lives never got better
despite our promises to each other. For one the frustration with our professional careers
wedged itself between our love and splintered us.

The moment I closed the door of our apartment after what would be our last goodbye I broke
down crying, only the cold tiled floor stood from a swallowing abyss that seemed to open up
below me.

I didn’t know how to be alone anymore. After almost 8 years it felt I was being thrown into
the world without so much as knowing how to breathe. Most of all I felt an anger that I
haven’t felt before. I couldn’t tell if I was angry at him or myself. I had, after all, made an
effort; I went to therapy, I reinitiated communication, I proposed new routines so we could
spend more time together.

When we had the talk to break apart he was surprised to learn I had been feeling like this for
a long time. That’s why I don’t know who to be angry at. How could he have not seen this
coming, creeping up day after day? Why did we let it last so long? What was I waiting for to
try to be happy again?

In a way I was holding off taking a decision about our two dogs.

Pointless, if not useless.

I was always going to lose them. I realized they were the sacrifice I had to make in order to
regain happiness in my life.

Albeit superficial I needed to start loving myself again. Loving my body for all the things I’ve
despised. Turning the disgust that overcame me every time I looked in the mirror into self desire. Loving myself after years of not having felt loved.

I may never understand what my parents went through. I don’t know why they reached their
breaking point, the struggles they went through, or what was the cancerous wedge that
lodged itself in between their love.

If in the past I was angry at them for not having tried, not even for me, I can now understand
unambiguously that life is complicated, even more so when you try to merge two together.
Yarn that was once strong, weaved out of passion and love, rots away. A moored ship that
keeps ashore hoping for a storm to pass.

The sacrifices my parents had to make may not have been the same I had to make. I love
them and I no longer fault them for their decisions. We all share a desire to feel wanted and
loved. Yet we always ignore the person who can unconditionally love us the best, ourselves.