Several years ago, in the heart of the time when our first twin had started going by a different name at school, our whole family was in a kind of silent crisis. Our oldest was out of the house, so he was dealing with his own challenges, but the rest of us were struggling together: living side by side, attempting peaceful relations on the surface, an unstable undercurrent of tension and pain lying just beneath. Most of the time we enjoyed one another’s company, laughing at meal times, playing games and watching movies, and going about our individual responsibilities. It didn’t take much, though, for that stress to breach the calm facade. Tears ready to spill, injured feelings just waiting to reappear. It was a fitful peace.
During those years, our marriage was strained. We didn’t see eye to eye. We were each dealing with personal struggles and unique approaches to this uncharted journey. We weren’t playing well as a team. My husband expressed his fear that our whole family was going to be torn apart. He was afraid of losing our kids, or losing me, or losing all of us completely. Continue reading
As an optimist, I entered this year of writing with an unspoken hope that my research and transparency would impact the choices of my twins, causing them to rethink their decisions and prevent them from undergoing permanent changes. In a way, I was still striving after something, but quietly, the undercurrent beneath the surface. I hoped for a miracle of enlightenment that would alter their courses.
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