As a child, I knew my home life was different then my friends, but I never realized just how much. When I was two years old my parents divorced, so I have no memories of them together (though according to my older siblings such is a blessing). Up until I was fifteen, nearly every other weekend entailed packing a bag for my fathers house. My whole life - everything I needed for 48 hours packed into a backpack that was always too full to zipper all the way, always leaving my moms house smelling laundry fresh and coming back with the scent of Marlboro reds - shorts of course. This constant back and forth created countless strains on friendship because those with a two parent household never understood why I couldn't go to the movies with them, or have a last minute sleepover; "it's not up to me, but the courts" was a phrase most third graders never understood. When I did finally get a friend who understood my weekend schedule, and the fact that I wouldn't always be able to hangout but it wasn't personal, it would be time to move. After years of back and forth with the judge, and begging my father to sign papers to put my beloved childhood home in her name, my mother was forced to file bankruptcy and we moved not only houses, but counties. We considered this a new beginning, her and I - for years and years it was just the two of us, my other siblings moved in and out countless times, but I've always been with her, for which I am eternally grateful - we would no longer be stared at by the neighbors when police cars would take my father away, or questioned as to why there was another screaming match at Sunday night drop off. I finally became okay with the idea of divorced parents, taking the odd schedule in stride and becoming comfortable with having two sets of friends in two different places. For a breath things were okay, my mom and I settled into a routine which consisted of watching "Wheel Of Fortune" on the couch together every night, and being able to make it a girls day everyday. She enjoyed finally being able to walk around the grocery store without the thought of having to see my father, and the rest of me siblings being with him too afraid to say hi - bravery becomes an idiotic thought when you are around a man who reacts to anything that goes against his wishes in a fury of rage, yet never such wishes known. Though the thought of having a town to ourselves became all too utopian when my father moved into a house five minutes from ours. His next move was petitioning for full custody of me and calling child protective services on my mother, because in his mind a child being shown true love and respect should be criminal. From that moment on, up until my 18th birthday this past February, child protective services and the family court systems were those I was met with every year or so. I have utmost respect for those in these fields, being a voice for children who have been silenced all their lives and helping them to be in better situations is incredibly selfless and amazing, but all the moments I spent surrounded around these workers and questions made my childhood incredibly sad. Being forced to see my father after telling the courts and my advocate that I would rather anything else than him have full custody of me became a perfect storm for distress. Being asked if my mother has ever hurt me in the most horrific ways I've ever heard, and having to picture such has created images that will never leave my head. Being yelled at by my father is something I will never be able to unhear. How does when forget being told they are just like their mother when that is all they've ever hoped for. This is the reality of divorce that is never talked about - the amount of hours a child of divorce must spend being questioned about their parents, the amount of lies they hear about one parent from the other, the one you love most being called the worst things you can imagine. All of this which a child of divorce faces simply from their existence. I urge couples to truly think about what bringing a child in the world means - what would happen if they separate? Would they be able to speak about the other with respect, co-parent, or would they use their child as a pawn to hurt the other. I urge them to remember a child is a gift, not a tool.