Real Families–“This is how I was raised”: Olivia’s Co-Parenting Story

This interview is cross-posted from one of our fave co-parenting sites, CoParenting101, home of WeParent expert panelist Deesha Philyaw.   Here’s what Deesha has to say about her chat with co-parenting mom, Olivia, and an excerpt from the interview:

I (Deesha) met Olivia about four years ago, through a mutual friend.  I knew this bright, witty woman was a mom, but only just this past month did I learn that she is also a co-parent.  I sat down with Olivia recently to talk about her co-parenting experiences, straight no chaser:

How long have you been co-parenting?

Khailil is 7 now.  His dad, Jabari, and I split up when he was almost one.  We moved back to my hometown from Seattle, and about a year later, Jabari relocated here from Seattle as well.

What led you to move back?

I was being selfish, thinking about myself and my son.  Jabari and I became distant, things just weren’t working out, and I had no support in Seattle.  I wanted Khailil to grow up amongst a close-knit family, as I did.

How did you and Jabari decide to co-parent?

Once Jabari moved here, Khailil began spending a couple of nights with him each week, plus every other weekend.  We never went to court, never even thought about court.  And we’ve never fought about money.  He sends a check each month, and when his sales commissions are cut, we reduce child support.  We made a pact to never use Khailil as a tool.  We focus on his needs.

Being Right or Having Peace

It’s been eighteen years since I sent fear packing and conjured up the courage to walk away from a marriage that had me mentally exhausted and emotionally depleted. It was a huge leap of faith. I had four children in tow. The youngest was six-months and the oldest hadn’t started school. I had just been furloughed from my job, and I was three-months pregnant. But, even though my circumstances looked bleak, my future looked brighter than what I was leaving behind.

When I told my husband about my plans to move, he protested and told me I wasn’t taking his kids anywhere. He knew how strongly I felt about raising our children in a two-parent home, where the mother and the father were married to each other, so he constantly reminded me that whoever left would be the one who broke the pact. I didn’t want to let my kids down, because I was raised by a single mom, and so was he. But at the same time, I could no longer stay at the expense of my sanity. We were living a lie, and I was tired of the façade. What good was it for us to keep up the image of happiness when the disdain we felt for each was about to make one or both of us go postal?

After he told me I wasn’t taking his kids with me, I called his bluff. I knew he had no intentions of keeping the kids, so I reiterated that I was moving – not the kids. I told him when I was moving out and where I was moving to. And over the course of the next few weeks I went about the business of buying things for my apartment. Thank God I did because three days before I was scheduled to move, he came home and announced that he was moving that night. Not only did he move out, but he took everything but the kids: the furniture, the TVs, and the car. When I asked if he was taking the kids, he said he only had a one-bedroom and didn’t have room for them.

So, why did he need the kids’ beds if he didn’t have room for the kids? The only answer he gave me was that he knew somebody who needed them.

I was disgusted, but not surprised. I called my cousin and told him what was going on, and he told me that he had a sofa and loveseat for sale. Perfect! I needed to buy them. He also agreed to move me, so that was another thing I didn’t have to worry about. Plus, my mother had a bed in storage that she let me have, and I went to a furniture store the following day and financed new canopy beds for my daughters. Life was looking up.

It took a few months for me to get on my feet, but I eventually got my bearings. Bureaucratic rules held up my unemployment check for two months, and my husband was determined not to help out. My mother sent money when she could. And I’m forever grateful for friends who comforted me when my son was born stillborn, gave me food when I couldn’t afford to buy any, babysat for free after I went back to work, and gave me a ride to work until I bought a car.

As time went on, my husband did ask me what I planned to tell the children about our breakup. To be honest, I really hadn’t given it much thought. I’m sure what he really wanted to know was if I planned to make myself a victim and sing them a somebody-done-me-wrong song. But, what would I get out of that? I was so happy to be living in peace, that I had no desire to prove who was right or wrong in the marriage. And as far as I was concerned, we were equally at fault for not being able to make it work.

As a self-proclaimed daddy’s girl, I wanted my kids to spend time with him and develop a strong father/child connection, even if I felt like he was a pitiful husband. I didn’t want to sway their opinion, like my mother didn’t sway mine. My dad never provided emotional or financial support for us, and I still have an exaggerated perception of him. I know he was no daddy of the year, but my mother never said a negative thing about him. She was phenomenal. She stayed when she could have left, bridled her tongue when I’m sure she wanted to burst, and allowed me to form my own opinion about the man I call Daddy.

And I did the same for my kids.