DIVORCE IS THE PITTS

And the Smiths and the Joneses. As more and more of us separate, let’s not forget the children

Words, words, words — divorce is full of so many words you think you’re going to drown in them. Sad words, ugly words, hurtful words. Words you said that boomerang right back into your face. Words you string together in an imperfect narrative for something you can barely understand, much less explain.

Just look at the words that have exploded this week following the demise of uber couple Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. He’s a drunk. She’s a lunatic. He’s cheated with his co-star. She throws knives. He’s a bad role model. She’s sacked the nanny. He’s “very saddened”. She’s hired a supremo lawyer. He’s blindsided. And the most risible to date: what’s she going to do about all those tattoos?

Hundreds of thousands of words, but barely a mention of the only six that really matter: Maddox, Pax, Zahara, Shiloh, Vivienne and Knox. While the rest of the world has been devouring every micro detail and non fact of the Brangelina split, I’ve been reading something else – a book on children’s experiences of divorce. Splitting Up – A Child’s Guide to a Grown-Up

Problem was published earlier this month by one of the world’s leading law firms after they became frustrated that children’s voices were not being heard during the divorce process. It’s a disheartening read.

Anneliese, nine, tells of how her mum asked her to put away the photo of her dad on her bedside table because she didn’t feel comfortable with it. “I think maybe my mum threw it away,” she says.

Hannah, eight, recounts how she and her siblings are exchanged at the corner shop because her parents won’t enter each other’s streets. Luca, 10, worries about his little sisters: “Because when they’re older and they find out that our dad’s gone, they might not think about him and where he might be. If I can’t answer the questions, they might feel alone and they might be worried all the time.”

Millie, 10, says she’s going to have to ask her stepmum to buy her some gumboots because her mum doesn’t like her taking her clothes to her dad’s.

As I’ve been reading I’ve wondered what my children might say if they were asked to contribute. When my husband and I separated two and a half years ago I was determined that if we couldn’t model a good marriage to our children, at least we could show them a good divorce.

But how to do it? Everywhere I turned were stories of bitterness. Parents in court arguing over whether their child should be vaccinated, what name the child should be called, what religion he or she should follow. In one case, a judge ruled a 12-year-old girl would have to attend two different schools because of her feuding parents; in another a woman claimed her two children could not stay overnight with their father because he sometimes masturbated in the bathroom.

Equally demoralising was the mocking of others who attempted a more harmonious approach. Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin’s “conscious uncoupling” was roundly parodied as virtuous, self-serving twaddle, while Helena Bonham Carter and Tim Burton were suddenly weird for going on a post-split family walk on Christmas Day. Websites continue to post pictures of Ben Affleck and Jennifer Garner performing the seemingly newsworthy act of being co-parents to their kids. In the end my husband and I wrote our own script. We were not impervious to sorrow, shame or pain – and for some I appreciate those obstacles prove unnavigable. But we figured if we once loved each other enough to create two people then surely we retained enough care and respect to treat each other well. To view any relationship that bore children as a “mistake” is a dreadful message to give your kids.

In the beginning it was hard. Everyone’s competing for the title of “most injured”, but over time even those who perceive themselves to be the greater victim recognise it’s a pointless trophy to lug round.

And so we still have family dinners, Christmases and a shared bank account. When I go away, he moves into the house. We talk when we need to, not to a schedule, and I uphold him in the eyes of our children just as he upholds me.

Any time I feel spiteful or aggrieved, I picture the faces of my children. And mostly, though not always, I try to do not just the right thing, but the kind thing.

What I’ve learned — and what I hope our children have learned — is this: our family is not “broken”, but different and of no less value for being so; that in feeling pain we’re more attuned to others’ pain; that divorce, while a death of sorts, is also the soil from which springs optimism, tolerance and grace.

Mostly though, I’ve learned that all those words that characterise the end of a marriage eventually fade to nothing. What remains — and what your children see — is the person you’ve chosen to be.