Meredith’s Musings: Love Explosion

article by Meredith McKinnie

My stepdaughter is experiencing divorce again. Her mother and stepfather have announced it to her, and I’ve been watching her closely ever since. The longer I co-parent this nine-year-old, the more I realize how intertwined we all are. I may not be privy to what is going in our child’s other home, but we all experience the ramifications. She has an almost lackadaisical attitude about it this time, as if she knows she’s weathered this before. Having been in her life for the past five years, the majority of her life, I know my stepdaughter, her quirks, her mannerisms, and I particularly notice when they suddenly shift. And recently, her attitude, her demeanor has shifted.

It began slowly with clingy behavior, both for her mom when she would drop her off and for her dad and me during her time here. She never wants to be alone, even in the daytime. She hesitates when I send her to her room to retrieve something, as if we may not be there when she returns. She begs to sleep in our bed, though she knows the rules. She doesn’t just sit beside me when we watch TV, but rather curls up against my hip, almost willing me to stay put as long as possible. I know she is craving consistency, and I realize I am the only new person introduced to her life that has stayed put. I like that I can be that for her, but hate that she fears losing it.

Shortly after the imminent divorce had become common knowledge among us, she was painting one of her canvases, an activity she has always loved. Her dad will sketch “her vision,” and then she paints, with bright, vibrant colors and meticulous attention to staying inside the lines. She’s a perfectionist when it comes to her art. But this night, when she revealed the painting to us, the pink and red colors were smeared all across the canvas, her father’s lines were invisible, and little connection to the original concept remained. The shock may have shown on my face, but she was still staring at the canvas, studying the imperfect picture with satisfaction. And she inhaled a deep breath and announced, “It’s called love explosion.” My heart broke a little. I don’t even know if she realized she had just smeared her feelings of disappointment all over that canvas, but her dad and I did. I hope it was therapeutic for her.

She’s always somewhat on edge, obsessed with time and ingredients in her favorite recipes, and when someone will be returning. She wants to know how long her dad’s game will last, if I have dinner plans away from home that evening, what day she has to leave. She’s searching for structure, for certainty, for the guidelines that make it easier to notice anything strange. She’s looking for signs of change, and seeks refuge in routine. If my tone shifts, she’s quick to calm the situation, as if upsetting the balance might unseat the family. She’s made it her mission in our home to keep everything as it always was. Perhaps she felt like she failed in her other home. I hope she knows it’s not her fault.

One evening she was being defiant, and her dad was at a game, and my patience was running thin. I got so lost in reacting to her behavior that I forgot for a moment to consider the source. She was testing me. She had tried it years ago, and when I wouldn’t budge, I won her respect. Often she moves quicker when I command her to do something than when her her 6’4 father does. But she kept on, and I kept fighting her. When she repeated the behavior inconsistent with this child, I paused and grabbed her arms. I looked her straight in the face and insisted, “I’m not going to divorce your father.” She tried to shrug me off and shook her head as if it wasn’t her worst fear. But I said it again. And she shook less. So I said it again, and again….and again. When tears appeared in the corners of her eyes, I knew she’d heard me. She couldn’t look me in the eye; that would be admission of fear, but she hugged me tight and exhaled deeply.

She’s been lighter since, as if she has chosen to accept my promise and not try to be perfect for fear of upsetting the balance. I hate she’s having to carry this. It kills us as adults; I can’t imagine how the kids think about it. My husband insists they probably simplify it, accept the change and move on. Kids always handle adult situations better than adults. They don’t get enough credit. I can’t promise she will never experience divorce again, but I can control our home. I can be the consistency she craves in a world of chaos. I made a promise to a nine-year-old, and every day I’m keeping it.