Diary of a Kid With Two Homes

I know you both love me but sometimes I’m not sure. You say it all the time but sometimes it feels like words. When I’m with Mom I think about Dad. When I’m with Dad I think about Mom. I feel like I’m never all the way in one place. I’m always half somewhere else.

Having two houses is weird. At Mom’s it’s one way, at Dad’s it’s another. Different rules, different food, different everything. I try to keep track but I forget. Like I’ll do something at Mom’s that’s fine but at Dad’s it’s wrong. Then I feel dumb, like I don’t belong in either place.

I don’t like it when you fight or say things about each other. Even if you whisper, I hear it. Even if you say I shouldn’t worry, I do. It makes my chest hurt. It makes me feel like I have to pick a side. I don’t want to. I want to love you both and not have to hide it.

Sometimes I don’t say anything because I’m scared. If I had fun at Mom’s, I don’t tell Dad. If I had fun at Dad’s, I don’t tell Mom. Then I feel alone because I can’t share things. It’s like I have to split myself in half.

I hate when you tell me to tell Mom or Dad stuff. My stomach hurts when you do that. I don’t want to be in the middle. I just want you to talk to each other. I didn’t choose this. I didn’t want two homes, two sets of rules, to pack a bag all the time, to forget my things, or to miss one of you while I’m with the other.

Sometimes I just want to scream. Even if things weren’t perfect before, at least it was one home. Now I don’t know where I fit. Sometimes I feel like I’m just visiting at both houses. I don’t want to feel that way with my own parents.

What I need is to know you both love me. For real. Not just the words, but the way it feels. I need to feel safe in both homes. I need to know I don’t have to choose. I need you to remember I’m just a kid. I want to be myself in both places. I don’t want to keep secrets. I just want to be your kid. Not your messenger. Not your referee. Just your kid.