What Divorce Looked Like Through My Children’s Strength

When people talk about kids and divorce, they usually imagine two camps: devastated or resilient. My kids landed somewhere in between. They struggled—sometimes quietly, sometimes loudly—and yet, their strength still surfaced in ways I didn’t expect.

The Struggle You Don’t Always See

Kids don’t announce their grief in neat little speeches. They don’t sit you down, sitcom-style, and say, “Mom, I am grieving the collapse of our family structure and would like a workbook on emotional processing.” Nope. They show you in subtler, messier, more confusing ways.

For my oldest, 17 at the time, strength looked like escape. He had a girlfriend who quickly became his safe harbor—his sounding board, his “I don’t want to talk to Mom about this, but I’ll talk to you” person. Part of me worried he leaned too heavily on her, but I was also grateful he had someone.

My youngest, just 11, couldn’t process at all. His grief showed up in his body—stomachaches, migraines, exhaustion. Twice, we ended up in the hospital, doctors running tests only to conclude what I already knew: his little heart and mind were carrying more than he could put into words.

Watching them hurt—one escaping, one internalizing—was brutal. I couldn’t fix it. I could only sit beside them in their different versions of silence.

And yet, their resilience surfaced in small, surprising moments.

One night at dinner, my teenager looked up and asked, “Does this mean we’ll get to celebrate Christmas twice?” We laughed, and the boys immediately began plotting their Christmas lists. Humor was his lifeline—his way of telling his little brother, “This isn’t the end of the world.”

My youngest found strength in routine. School had to start on time. Permission slips had to be signed weeks in advance. Pizza day and dress-down day? Non-negotiable. Suddenly I had a mini-captain at home regulating our lives with precision. His rules tethered us to something solid when everything else felt blown apart.

Their humor, their routines, their quiet persistence—that’s what carried them through. That’s what carried us through.

What They Taught Me About Healing

I thought my job was to be strong for them. What I learned is that strength doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it hides in silence. Sometimes it leans on a girlfriend. Sometimes it clings to the comfort of pizza day. And sometimes it’s just getting through one more uncertain day.

My boys taught me that resilience after divorce isn’t about bouncing back quickly—it’s about finding ways to keep moving, even when you don’t know what’s waiting on the other side.

Their strength wasn’t loud. It was quiet, complicated, imperfect. But it was real. And it reminded me that even in the hardest chapters, kids have a way of showing us how to keep moving forward—hoods up, humor intact, and pizza days circled in red on the calendar.