A Narrative Essay On A Broken Family

I was just six years old when my parents got divorced. When I tell people this, they are inclined to look at me with a melancholic expression and pity, but I always put a halt to it. I tell them that I was one of the fortunate few. My parents were civil to each other and my childhood was pretty decent.

I never considered either of my parents to be a single parent. Despite their divorce, they looked after me in unison. My time was divided amongst both of them. Half of the year, I resided at my father’s residence and the other half at my mother’s apartment. Their houses were just a ten minute drive from each other so I was never far away from either of them. Every Saturday night, we would have dinner together and there was no hostility. My parents were always present together to celebrate my birthdays, special festivals like Eid and important moments of my life like volleyball final matches, graduations and the list goes on. Even though, they were divorced, I had a functional life.

It seemed like my parents had figured out how to be divorced and still make sure I was not scarred by it. I had believed that I had been untouched by the horrible

There have been many moments when instead of aiming to better my relationship with my husband, I was just avoiding conflict because deep inside, I believe conflict will eventually lead to divorce. The other day, my husband decided to invest our money from the joint account in a new construction venture even though I had told him not to. When I asked him about it, he listed the reasons as to why he believed strongly in the venture and could not let me make a mistake. After arguing a bit more, I stopped and said, “I guess you are right” with a big sigh. I acted submissive, in order to avoid conflict. Usually, when I believe in something I stand by it no matter what the outcome might be, but when it comes to my marriage my responses are different because of