This is the weekly Amplify newsletter, where you can be inspired and challenged by the voices, opinions and insights of women at The Globe and Mail.
Sandra E. Martin is head of newsroom development at The Globe and Mail.
“Which kid would get the big bedroom?”
It’s a relevant question for any family – and particularly loaded for two divorced parents raising teenagers together from their previous marriages. So, as my partner, Paul, and I snooped through a house listed for sale nearby, we couldn’t help but wonder aloud how our separate lives and stuff might fit in it.
Up another flight of stairs, we discovered the attic had been converted into two small, low-ceilinged bedrooms that offered little relief from the sun beating down on the sloped roof above. Which of our four kids would have to sleep there?
Thank goodness we aren’t actually moving in together.
After more than two years of dating – during the pandemic, no less – some couples might decide to “make it official” by sharing a roof. According to Statistics Canada, separated or divorced adults aged 34 to 65 wait an average of five years before re-coupling, and by that measure, Paul and I, both separated from our co-parents for more than eight years, are more than due.
So, you might ask, what’s stopping us? For me, the awareness that I have a finite number of years under the same roof as my kids, who turn 20 and 16 this fall, is a major factor. As it stands, they’re away at their dad’s 50 per cent of the time, and I want to maximize the 50 per cent that I get. At this point in their lives, my kids are asserting their independence, spending increasingly more time with friends and at part-time jobs. When we have a chance to talk, often it’s about who didn’t scoop the cat’s litter box or what we should have for dinner; but occasionally it’s about something urgent and critical – and if someone else was in the house, even if it’s someone they’ve shared many meals and been on cottage vacations with, they might hold back.
But what about money? While it might seem that combining incomes would provide some financial ease, we’ve crunched the numbers and it’s actually to our benefit to live apart. Each of our current homes is just big enough to handle a parent and two adult-size kids. That means one of us couldn’t simply sell or rent out our current home and move into the other’s; there isn’t enough space for two adults and four kids to sleep, eat, do homework and have the occasional friend over.
More importantly, even if we did have the space (say, won the lottery and could afford a five-bedroom house in our neighbourhood), it seems to me that throwing four pretty fully-formed people into a single domestic situation isn’t fair to any of them. (See also: “There’s a new person in my space and that makes me not want to talk to Mom about this thing that’s been worrying me,” above.)
Of course, blended families do exist. But they aren’t super common. In Canada, about 10 per cent of children live in stepfamilies with kids from just one of the parents (in other words, no step- or half-siblings they have to learn to share space with). Fewer than half of those kids do live with stepsiblings or half-siblings.
And, of course, some step-families are successful. But even in the best cases, combining families is tricky. As the American Psychological Association notes, “Young children, for example, may feel a sense of abandonment or competition as their parent devotes more time and energy to the new spouse. Adolescents are at a developmental stage where they are more sensitive to expressions of affection and sexuality, and may be disturbed by an active romance in their family.”
As far as I’ve been able to tell, no one’s done a statistically significant survey – but I’m getting the sense from anecdotal stories and social-media exchanges that our Twin Cities style of coupledom might be gaining favour. When I pitched this story to Amplify’s editor, she commented: “I have a friend who’s doing the same thing … and it appears to be working for her, too.”
Some might assume there’s a lack of commitment baked into my decision – either on my part, or my partner’s. From my perspective, in all the ways that matter most, Paul and I are a couple. We’ve supported each other through parenting and career challenges. We have spent vacations together. I feel comfortable assuming he’ll be my plus-one at dress-up engagements and my date on national holidays. As an added bonus, he’s a 20-minute walk away.
But it is nice that others in my circle get it, too. I was messaging with a friend (who happens to be getting married next summer), and she asked how things are going with Paul. “So pleased for you,” she typed. “Having a man walking distance away is perfect – your own space whenever you want it and companionship when you want it. Perfect balance!”
Respect to those who decide to remarry and blend their households. But what feels right for us, for me, right now, is to stay together – separately.
What else we’re thinking about:
Having discovered long-distance running later in life, I’ve loved reading stories of women who are breaking records in the sport, at all levels, from couch-to-5K beginners to seasoned competitors. It turns out that female participation in the sport is growing and Canada has the highest proportion of female runners in the world, at 57 per cent. The biggest benefit I’ve experienced from my trail and road treks, and one that I find even greater than the boost to my health, is that it’s soothed my antsy nature and made me uncharacteristically okay with being in the moment, in the middle of the pack.
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