- After 28 years together, my husband left, and now I’m concerned about the impact of divorce on our college-aged kids.
- Divorce has created financial strain on their education, and my youngest son even expresses a reluctance to get married.
- To encourage emotional openness, I make sure to set an example so they know it’s okay to talk about their feelings.
As I sat in the car, beads of sweat formed on my forehead. Was it because of the occasional hot flashes I still experienced, or perhaps because I was wearing a down parka in 70-degree weather during winter?
I turned on the air conditioning, wanting to maintain a calm appearance despite the emotional turmoil from my husband leaving me after 28 years of marriage. He claimed that we were “better off as friends.”
Thankfully, my son didn’t see through my facade. We chatted about his frustrating flight delay and playfully teased him about his habit of making last-minute plans. But beneath our smiles, the pain of my divorce from his father still lingered for both of us.
The challenges of having older kids post-divorce
Many people tell me that I’m fortunate to have older children because it’s supposedly easier. However, I beg to differ. It’s been tough for all of us. While studies often suggest that divorce has a greater impact on younger kids, others argue that older children who are more emotionally developed face more difficulties.
My sons are now 19 and 21 years old. They attend college away from home, removing the need for shared custody arrangements. I no longer have to use scheduling apps to coordinate with their father for sports practices, daycare, or playdate pickups. I don’t have to pack overnight bags or worry about whether their lunches meet my “healthy choices” criteria.
Instead, I worry about the emotional effects of our broken marriage on children old enough to understand that my tears signify more than just a temporary sadness. They know that their father, whom they love and admire, is the cause of my pain. I worry about how they’ll navigate conflicting emotions while dealing with their own relationships, academic pressures, and career decisions.
Although they didn’t pay much attention to our relationship before, now that we’re apart, they see us as individuals with flaws. Their father avoids discussing the breakup with them, as if ignoring it will make the situation disappear. Meanwhile, my sons, in a reversal of roles, comfort me as I cry countless times.
My sons are aware of the practical implications of divorce on our family’s finances. My older son’s college savings plan has been depleted. If he decides to pursue graduate school, he’ll have to rely on loans instead of our significant contributions, since maintaining two households has increased our expenses.
On the other hand, my younger son received substantial financial aid for the college he’s transferring to in the fall. He seemed more excited about it compared to previous scholarships, and I wonder if his enthusiasm is linked to his concerns about money. Both boys know that their dad and I split their weekly food costs when they’re home, and their portion alone dwarfs my entire weekly grocery bill.
During breaks, the boys stay with me in our childhood home and visit their father in his new two-bedroom apartment. They don’t spend the night there because their friends live near our home. They make an effort to see him despite being sensitive to not hurting either of us.
Then there’s the cynicism. My younger son has expressed that he never wants to get married, citing the statistic that 50% of marriages end in divorce. I didn’t even realize he knew that statistic. I try to reassure him that our failed marriage doesn’t mean his future relationships will fail too, but he remains unconvinced. Meanwhile, my older son shows his protectiveness by offering comfort and expressing his wish to give me $300,000 to buy a house.
Setting an example of healthy emotional expression
I strive to demonstrate emotional openness to provide my sons with a positive model for expressing themselves. I frequently ask them how they’re feeling, although it’s not always a popular question for young men. They often say they’re fine and that I should stop asking. I hope they truly are fine, but I remain uncertain. Even today’s society, with its focus on toxic masculinity, still encourages them to suppress their emotions.
I reassure them that despite my current sadness, I will be okay. I explain how therapy has helped me navigate the grief and how my friends have provided support beyond my expectations. I tell them that as painful as it is, the adage “you have to go through it to get through it” holds true.
As I drive my younger son to the airport at the end of his school break, tears well up in my eyes. I’m still hurting and raw, and I worry about how my emotional fragility may impact him and his brother. He describes coming home as “depressing,” and as a mother, those words cut into my soul. I do my best to regain composure and dry my tears like any strong mom would. I give him a tight hug and whisper that we’ll be okay; we just need more time. And then I watch him go.
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