A letter to the children
To our children — and to every child who has watched their family change,
We have wanted to write this letter for a long time. We have started it and stopped it more times than we can count — because some things are hard to say, and some things feel impossible to say well. But we want to try. Because you deserve to hear this, and we should have found the words sooner.
This letter is for you wherever you are — whether you are eight years old or thirty-eight. Whether your parents’ divorce happened last year or twenty years ago. Whether you have made your peace with it or whether it still sits in you like something that never quite healed. This is for you.
It was not your fault
We want to say this first, and we want to say it as clearly as we possibly can: what happened between your parents was not your fault. Not any part of it.
Not your fault even if you didn’t always do what you were supposed to do.
Not your fault even if you whined, or argued, or pushed back.
Not your fault even if you sometimes played one of us against the other — because children do that, and it is a completely normal thing to do, and it had nothing to do with why we separated.
Not your fault even if you sometimes wished we would stop fighting.
Not your fault even if, in a moment of frustration, you said something you didn’t mean.
Children do not cause divorces. Adults cause divorces — through the choices they make, the things they struggle with, the ways they fail each other that have nothing to do with you. You were never the problem. You were always the most important thing.
You could not have fixed it
We know that some of you tried. We know that some of you were so good, so careful, so quiet — hoping that if you were good enough, things would get better. We know that some of you made promises to yourselves: if I just do this, if I just don’t do that, maybe they will stop fighting. Maybe they will stay together.
We know that some of you even made promises to God. That you prayed, and bargained, and told Him what you would do — what you would give up, how you would be different — if He would just fix things. We want you to know that those prayers were heard. God does not ignore the prayers of his children. But He also does not force us to do anything. We are here to learn and to grow, and part of that growth comes through our struggles — even the ones that feel unbearably unfair. He did not cause your parents’ problems. But He will always help you through the pain they caused. He has not forgotten you. He never will.
We want you to know: there was nothing you could have done. The things that were broken between us were adult things — complicated, long-standing, and far beyond anything a child could carry or fix. You were not supposed to fix it. That was never your job. It was ours, and we are the ones who were not able to.
Please put that weight down. It was never yours to carry.
You do not have to choose
Your mom is your mom. Your dad is your dad. Nothing that happened between them changes that — not the divorce, not whatever came after, not whatever either of them may have said in pain or anger. You are allowed to love both of them. You are allowed to enjoy time with each of them. You are allowed to be happy, even when one of them is not.
If anyone — including a parent — has ever made you feel that loving the other parent is a betrayal, we want to say clearly: it is not. It is one of the most natural things in the world. Loving both your parents is not disloyalty. It is simply love, which is what you were made for.
You are also not responsible for your parents’ happiness. You are not your mom’s emotional caretaker. You are not your dad’s reason to keep going. Those are adult needs that adults need to meet in adult ways. Your job is to be a child — or, if you are older, to build your own life. Not to manage ours.
Your family has changed shape — it has not ended
We know it can feel like your family is broken. Like something that was whole has been shattered and cannot be put back. We understand why it feels that way. It is a real loss, and you are allowed to grieve it.
But we want to offer you a different way of seeing it: your family has not been destroyed. It has changed shape. The people who love you have not stopped loving you. The connections that matter — between you and each of your parents, between you and your siblings, between you and the extended family on both sides — those are still real. They are still there. They just look different now than they did before.
Different is hard. Different is a real loss. But different is not the same as gone.
You are not destined to repeat this
Some of you carry a quiet fear that what happened to your parents will happen to you — that divorce is something that runs in families, something you are doomed to repeat. We want to address that fear directly: it is not true.
What you have lived through has given you something that many people never have: an honest understanding of how hard marriage can be, and how important it is to choose carefully, communicate honestly, and ask for help when you need it. That is not a curse. In the hands of someone who is willing to use it, it is wisdom.
You are not your parents’ marriage. You are yourself — with your own choices, your own character, and your own capacity to love and be loved well. Your story is not written yet. And it does not have to look like ours.
Bruce
There is one more thing I need to say, and it is the hardest thing in this letter to write.
I have a daughter who is still struggling with what happened. I once told her — when she was worried about our marriage — that I would never quit, that I would never leave. And then I did. I made a promise I could not keep, and she has not forgotten it.
I wish I could explain. I wish she wanted to hear it. But she doesn’t — not yet. And even if she would listen, I am not sure she could understand that I made that decision because I believed, with everything I had, that it was the best thing I could do — for her, for her siblings, for her mother, for all of us. I may have been wrong. I have asked myself that question more times than I can count.
What I know is this: the weight of that is something I carry every day. Not with regret about the decision, but with grief for the pain it caused. I see the hurt that has followed. I wish I could make it better. I cannot. What I can do is keep showing up, keep loving her, and keep hoping that someday she might want to hear the rest of the story. And if she never does — I will still love her. Without conditions. Without an expiration date. Forever.
Your feelings are allowed
You are allowed to be sad. You are allowed to be angry. You are allowed to feel both of those things at the same time, or neither of them, or something entirely different that you don’t have a name for yet.
You do not have to be okay for our sake. You do not have to manage your feelings to protect us. If you are struggling — whether the divorce happened last month or twenty years ago — please talk to someone. A counselor, a trusted adult, a friend who will really listen. You do not have to carry this alone, and carrying it alone does not make you stronger. It just makes it heavier.
Your feelings are not a burden. They are information. And they deserve to be heard.
We love you
This is the truest thing in this letter, and we want it to be the last thing you read.
Whatever happened between us — whatever was said or done or broken — did not touch this. You are loved by both of your parents. Not perfectly, because none of us are perfect. Not always in ways that felt like love, because pain makes people do things they shouldn’t. But truly, and deeply, and without condition.
You did not cause this. You could not have fixed it. You do not have to choose. Your family has not ended. Your story is not written. And you are loved — more than we have always known how to show, and more than you may always have felt.
We are sorry for the pain. We are grateful for you. And we are rooting for you with everything we have.
With all our love,
Val & Bruce