My son has struggled deeply since his father and I got divorced, and lately I have started wondering whether I handled the situation completely wrong. When we first separated, I tried my best to make sure my son knew that the divorce was not his fault and that both of us still loved him. He was old enough to understand that his parents were no longer happy together, but I never expected the separation to affect him for so many years. At first, I gave him plenty of time and space to process everything. I answered his questions, listened when he was angry, and tried to keep his relationship with his father as normal as possible. However, as the years passed, it seemed like the divorce became the explanation for almost every problem in his life. Whenever he was upset, he brought up how different everything would have been if his parents had stayed together. Whenever something went wrong at school, in a friendship, or in his personal life, he somehow connected it back to the divorce. Recently, after another emotional conversation where he blamed the divorce for something completely unrelated, I finally lost my patience and told him that he needed to stop living in the past and get over it. The moment I said those words, I could see how hurt he was, and now I am questioning whether I crossed a line.

My son immediately became defensive and told me that I had no right to tell him how long he was allowed to grieve the family he thought he had lost. He said that while I had moved on and built a different life, he was still dealing with the consequences of a decision he never made. That statement really caught me off guard because I had never thought of the divorce that way. From my perspective, the marriage had become unhealthy and staying together simply to keep the family under one roof would not have been better for anyone. I thought that by eventually finding peace with the situation, I was showing my son that life could continue after something painful happened. But he told me that I was confusing moving forward with pretending the past did not matter. He reminded me of birthdays, holidays, school events, and family traditions that changed after the divorce. He said that he remembered constantly moving between houses and feeling like he had to act differently depending on which parent he was with. I had always assumed he adjusted better than he actually did because he rarely complained when he was younger. Hearing him describe those memories made me realize that I may have underestimated how much he was carrying inside.

The argument became even more emotional when my son told me that he felt I expected him to be grateful simply because things eventually became easier for me. He said that I had found a way to rebuild my life, make new friends, and eventually become comfortable with the changes, while he never got a choice in any of it. I tried explaining that I never wanted him to feel like his emotions were unimportant. I only wanted him to stop allowing something that happened years ago to control his present. I told him that at some point, everyone has to learn how to accept things they cannot change. He responded that acceptance was exactly what he was trying to achieve, but that it was difficult when the people who caused the situation acted as though it should no longer matter. That made me realize that my words may have sounded much harsher than I intended. When I said “get over it,” I meant that I wanted him to stop hurting himself by constantly replaying the past. But he heard it as “your pain is annoying me, so stop talking about it.” Those are obviously two very different messages, and I regret that I did not explain myself better.

After our argument, my son stopped talking to me for several days. I initially thought giving him some space was the right thing to do, but the silence made me think about everything he had said. I started wondering whether I had been expecting him to heal according to my timeline instead of his own. I also realized that I may have been more focused on defending the reasons behind the divorce than listening to how he experienced it. From an adult perspective, I knew why the marriage ended, and I believed it was ultimately the right decision. But my son did not experience the divorce as a decision between two adults. He experienced it as the loss of the family structure he had known. Even if the divorce was necessary, that did not mean he was forbidden from grieving it. I eventually reached out and told him that I was sorry for telling him to “get over” something that had affected him so deeply. I explained that I still believed he deserved to build a happy life without being trapped by the past, but I understood now that healing does not mean forgetting. I also told him that if he needed professional help dealing with everything he had kept inside for years, I would support him rather than judge him.

The conversation has not completely solved everything, but it has changed the way I look at the situation. My son eventually admitted that he does want to move forward, but he does not want to feel pressured to pretend that the divorce never hurt him. I told him that he never has to pretend for my sake. Looking back, I think I was frustrated because I genuinely wanted him to be happy, and watching him struggle made me feel helpless. Instead of admitting that helplessness, I turned it into impatience and gave him advice that sounded dismissive. I still believe that there comes a point when a person has to stop allowing the past to define their future, but I now understand that healing from something painful is not the same for everyone. Maybe my job as his mother is not to decide when he should be finished grieving, but to make sure he knows he does not have to go through it alone. So now I am wondering, AITA for telling my son to get over the divorce, even though I only said it because I wanted him to stop letting the past control his life?

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AITA for telling my son to get over the divorce?

My ex-wife, Natalie, and I had an amicable but not loving marriage.

We had 2 children, Michael (28M) and Lily (30F).

When Michael was about 10 years old, she and I saw that we no longer had romantic feelings, but a beautiful friendship. But for reasons at the time (mainly our children), we decided to continue the marriage until our children left home.

Basically nothing has changed on a daily basis, we were* still the same couple as always, but we didn’t force something we didn’t want.

When Michael moved away for college and home permanently (at age 19) we decided to make the gradual move and finally make our divorce official.

Michael didn’t handle it well. For months he tried to convince us to try couples therapy, “intervention”, that it was a bad phase in the marriage and not to sign the divorce paper until we were sure.

We explained together, separately that it wasn’t a bad phase and that we stayed together for the good of the family only, etc. Over time, he conformed (but hasn’t accepted until today).

I am currently married and so is Natalia. We have a great relationship and often spend Christmas and New Year’s together with our children.

What happened:

Michael is engaged to Liam and we recently had dinner with him, his in-laws, fiance and Natalie to celebrate the engagement.

Michael still has a habit of making spiteful comments about the divorce and how traumatizing his parents’ experience of getting divorced was. Several times, I said that this was something that hurt us to hear, because above all, my ex and I cherish that our children don’t suffer from our decision.

During dinner, we were talking to his in-laws and they asked how long we’d been apart and how good we had a relationship etc.

Michael at some point, said: “It wasn’t such a good thing for the family, it was a traumatizing experience to see your inspiration as a couple break up and your family fall apart”.

To say that Natalie and I were embarrassed that he said it in front of his in-laws is not necessary.

I had my limit and I said “Look, Mike, I understand your feelings, but it’s been 9 years that your mother and I haven’t been together and you didn’t even live with us during this process. We are already in another moment of our lives. I think it’s over time to get over it and turn the page”.

He was quiet and stayed that way for most of dinner, saying only what was necessary.

Later, I got a text from him criticizing me saying I should respect his feelings and he was just venting which was a valid thing and I shouldn’t say that in front of his in-laws.

AITA?

English is not my first language and I’m not an expert at it (google translate helped). When I said that our children didn’t suffer, I mean we tried everything that wasn’t the worst scenario and that they didn’t suffer so much, obviously there would be “damage”, but that it was as little as possible. Although many say it was a lie (and that’s ok), it was the best scenario for several reasons as well besides the children at the time.

A Divorce That Still Affects Her Son Years Later

I never imagined that my divorce would still be affecting my son years after his father and I officially ended our marriage. At the time, I believed I was making one of the hardest but necessary decisions of my life. Our marriage had been unhappy for a long time, and although we tried to make things work, eventually we reached a point where staying together was causing more harm than separating. I knew the divorce would hurt our son, but I honestly believed that children could eventually adjust if both parents remained supportive and consistent. I made a point of telling him that neither parent was leaving him and that he was loved by both of us. I never spoke badly about his father in front of him, and I encouraged him to maintain a close relationship with him. For the first few years, I thought he was doing okay. He went to school, had friends, participated in activities, and rarely complained. Looking back now, I realize that I may have mistaken his silence for healing.

My son was old enough to understand what divorce meant, but he was still young enough that he couldn’t fully understand why two people who had promised to stay together could suddenly decide not to. He asked questions that I struggled to answer without making his father look bad. Sometimes he wanted to know whether we would ever get back together. Other times he asked whether the divorce happened because of something he had done. Those questions broke my heart because I wanted him to understand that none of it was his responsibility. I repeatedly told him that adults sometimes realize they are no longer able to have a healthy relationship together. I assured him that he had not caused our problems and could not have prevented the divorce. At the time, I thought those conversations were enough. I didn’t realize that a child can understand the words “not your fault” while still emotionally feeling responsible for the family falling apart.

After the divorce, our lives changed dramatically. My son began splitting his time between two homes, which meant that things he once took for granted became complicated. School events required planning, holidays had to be divided, and birthdays sometimes involved separate celebrations. Even simple things like forgetting something at one parent’s house could turn into a major inconvenience. I tried to make both homes feel comfortable for him, but I knew it wasn’t the same as having everyone under one roof. His father and I eventually established routines, and for a while, everything seemed manageable. My son adapted to the schedule and stopped asking whether we would reunite. Because he wasn’t openly expressing sadness anymore, I assumed he had accepted the situation. I now wonder whether he had simply learned not to talk about it.

As he got older, I started noticing that the divorce came up whenever he was struggling with something. If he had an argument with a friend, he sometimes said that relationships never lasted anyway. If he had a difficult day at school, he would mention how much easier things would have been if his family had stayed together. When he saw classmates spending time with both parents at the same event, he occasionally became quiet. I tried to listen whenever he wanted to talk, but sometimes I honestly didn’t know what to say. I would tell him that I understood why he was upset and that things would eventually feel easier. He would usually nod and change the subject. I thought we were making progress. What I didn’t understand was that he wasn’t necessarily looking for me to solve anything. He may simply have wanted someone to acknowledge that what happened had genuinely hurt him.

Over the years, I also rebuilt my own life. I found a new routine, developed friendships, focused on work, and eventually became comfortable with the fact that my marriage was over. I didn’t forget the past, but I stopped thinking about it every day. From my perspective, that was what moving forward looked like. I assumed my son would eventually reach the same point. I believed that if he kept focusing on everything he had lost, he would never be able to appreciate everything he still had. He had loving parents, opportunities, friends, and people who cared about him. I wanted him to see that his childhood had not been completely ruined by our divorce. Unfortunately, I think I started comparing his healing process to mine without realizing that we had experienced the divorce in completely different ways.

The biggest difference was that I had a choice. I was an adult who had made a difficult decision after years of thinking about it. My son had no control over anything. He didn’t decide that his parents should separate. He didn’t choose which house he would live in on a particular night. He didn’t choose how holidays would be divided or how family traditions would change. I understood this intellectually, but I don’t think I always understood it emotionally. Whenever he talked about missing the old days, part of me wanted to tell him that those days were gone and that he needed to accept reality. I thought I was helping him become stronger. In reality, I may have been making him feel like his emotions were an inconvenience.

Things became more difficult recently when my son had another emotional conversation with me about the divorce. We were talking at home when he suddenly started describing how much he missed the way our family used to be. He said that he sometimes wondered what his life would have looked like if his father and I had stayed together. He wasn’t yelling or being disrespectful. He was simply sad. He talked about memories from when he was younger and how different everything felt now. He said he knew that his parents were happier apart, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still allowed to miss having us together. I listened for a while, but I could feel myself becoming frustrated because I had heard similar things many times before.

I eventually told him that he couldn’t keep looking backward forever. I said that the divorce happened years ago, neither of us could change it, and he needed to focus on building his own future. I told him that constantly thinking about what might have happened wasn’t going to bring our old family back. Then, in a moment of frustration, I said the words that have been bothering me ever since: “You need to get over the divorce.” As soon as I said it, I knew it sounded harsh. My son became completely silent. His expression changed, and instead of arguing with me, he looked genuinely hurt. That reaction immediately made me realize that he had heard something very different from what I had intended to say.

He asked me what exactly I expected him to get over. I told him that I meant he needed to stop allowing the divorce to affect every part of his life. He said that I didn’t get to decide how long something painful was allowed to hurt him. He reminded me that I was the person who had chosen to end the marriage, while he was simply the child who had to live with the consequences. That statement hit me harder than I expected. I wanted to defend myself and explain why the divorce had been necessary, but I stopped. I realized that proving the divorce was the right decision wouldn’t erase the pain he experienced. Two things could be true at the same time: the divorce could have been necessary, and it could still have deeply hurt my son.

My son then told me that he felt like everyone expected him to be okay because enough time had passed. He said that whenever he brought up the divorce, people assumed he was still stuck in the past. He explained that sometimes he wasn’t even looking for an answer. He just wanted to talk about something that had shaped his childhood. He said that I seemed uncomfortable whenever he expressed sadness about our family. Hearing this was painful because I had always believed I was giving him permission to talk. Apparently, my words and behavior had been sending a different message. I had been listening, but I had also been trying to push him toward the ending I wanted. I wanted him to say that everything was fine. He wanted me to accept that sometimes everything could be okay and painful at the same time.

He also told me that he hated having to choose between his parents during holidays. Even though we tried to make arrangements as fairly as possible, he said he often felt guilty when spending time with one parent because he knew the other parent was somewhere else. I had always thought our schedule was reasonable. We divided important days and tried to avoid putting him in the middle. But from his perspective, every holiday reminded him that his family was no longer together. I hadn’t realized that something I viewed as a practical arrangement could feel emotionally complicated to him. He wasn’t accusing us of intentionally hurting him. He was explaining how the situation felt from his side. That distinction made me listen more carefully.

At one point, he said something that I don’t think I’ll ever forget. He told me, “You got to choose a new life. I had to adjust to yours.” I knew immediately why that sentence hurt so much. He wasn’t saying that I had ruined his life. He was saying that adults sometimes underestimate how much children are forced to adapt to decisions they didn’t make. I thought about all the times I had told him that he was strong and would eventually move on. Maybe he had interpreted those words as pressure to stop feeling hurt. Maybe every time I celebrated his ability to adapt, he felt like he had to continue pretending he wasn’t struggling. I suddenly wished I could go back and have some of those conversations differently.

The argument eventually ended with my son walking away. He didn’t slam the door or scream at me. He simply said he didn’t want to talk anymore and went to his room. Somehow, that was worse. I sat there afterward replaying the conversation in my head. I kept thinking about the exact moment I told him to get over it. I knew what I had meant, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how it must have sounded to him. It sounded like I was tired of hearing about his pain. It sounded like I wanted him to stop reminding me that my decision had consequences. And most painfully, it sounded like I was telling my own son that his feelings had an expiration date.

I initially considered giving him some space, but the more I thought about it, the more uncomfortable I became. I realized that I had spent years believing that time automatically healed everything. It doesn’t. Time can create distance from an event, but it doesn’t necessarily resolve the emotions connected to it. My son may have grown older, but that doesn’t mean the younger version of him who experienced the divorce simply disappeared. He may still carry memories and questions from that period. I started wondering how many times he had wanted to talk about those things but decided not to because he didn’t want to hear me tell him to move on. That possibility made me feel incredibly guilty.

I also thought about my own reasons for becoming frustrated. The truth is, watching my son struggle with the divorce made me feel helpless. I wanted to fix it, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t put our family back together just because he missed it. I couldn’t erase the memories that hurt him. I couldn’t go back in time and give him the childhood he imagined he should have had. Because I couldn’t solve the problem, I started trying to convince him that the problem shouldn’t matter anymore. That was much easier for me than admitting that there was nothing I could do to change what had happened. Telling him to move on gave me the illusion that I was giving him a solution. In reality, I was probably avoiding his pain because I didn’t know how to sit with it.

A few days later, I approached him and apologized. I didn’t try to explain away what I had said. I simply told him that I was sorry for telling him to get over something that had affected him so deeply. I told him that I still believed he deserved a future that wasn’t controlled by the divorce, but I understood now that moving forward doesn’t mean pretending the past didn’t matter. He didn’t immediately forgive me, and I didn’t expect him to. He listened quietly and then told me that he appreciated the apology. He said he wasn’t asking me to fix everything. He just wanted me to stop treating his sadness like something he needed to hide.

That conversation opened the door to things we had never really discussed. My son told me that one of the hardest parts of growing up after the divorce was feeling like he had two separate versions of his family. At one house, certain routines existed. At the other, everything worked differently. He said he became very good at adjusting because he didn’t want either parent to think he was unhappy. That broke my heart because I had always praised him for being “so mature” about the divorce. Now I wondered whether what I called maturity was actually him learning to suppress his feelings. He had been trying to make things easier for us while we assumed he was simply coping well.

He also admitted that he sometimes felt jealous of friends whose parents were still married. He said he knew it wasn’t fair to feel that way, but he couldn’t control it. I told him that jealousy and sadness didn’t make him ungrateful or selfish. I told him he was allowed to wish his childhood had been different without that meaning he didn’t love either parent. For the first time, I stopped trying to convince him that the divorce had ultimately been for the best. Maybe it had been. Maybe it hadn’t. What mattered in that moment was that he was telling me how it had felt to him. He didn’t need a legal argument or an explanation. He needed his mother to hear him.

I also apologized for something else. Throughout the years, I had occasionally said things like, “You’re old enough now to understand why we divorced.” I never meant those comments cruelly, but I realized they could have sounded like I expected him to agree with my decision simply because he was getting older. Understanding why something happened is not the same as being okay with it. An adult can understand why a marriage needed to end while still grieving the family structure that disappeared. I had confused those two things. My son didn’t need to approve of the divorce in order to accept reality. He needed time to build his own relationship with reality.

There was also another uncomfortable truth I had to face. Part of me had been afraid that my son’s continued sadness meant he secretly blamed me. Whenever he mentioned the divorce, I felt defensive even when he wasn’t blaming anyone. I wanted him to know that I had made the best decision I could under difficult circumstances. Because I was worried about being seen as the parent who broke the family, I sometimes focused more on defending myself than understanding him. That’s something I regret. My son shouldn’t have to protect my feelings when he is trying to process his own. I finally told him that he was allowed to have complicated feelings about the divorce, including feelings about me. He didn’t have to make me comfortable every time he talked about his childhood.

He eventually told me that he didn’t hate me and didn’t think I was a bad mother. In fact, he said he knew I had tried to protect him. But he also said that sometimes protection felt like being told that everything would eventually be fine. He wanted me to understand that “fine” didn’t mean the same thing to him as it did to me. For me, fine meant that everyone had moved forward and was functioning normally. For him, fine meant being able to remember the past without feeling ashamed of missing it. That distinction changed my perspective. I had been measuring his healing by how little he talked about the divorce. Now I understand that talking about something doesn’t necessarily mean a person is trapped by it.

We talked about whether he wanted to speak with a therapist or counselor. I didn’t tell him that he needed therapy because I thought something was wrong with him. I told him that sometimes it helps to have someone outside the family to talk to, especially when emotions have been carried for years. He said he would think about it. I told him there was no pressure. I also promised that if he wanted to talk to me, I would listen without immediately giving advice. That may sound simple, but it is actually difficult for me because my instinct as a mother is always to solve problems. I’m learning that sometimes listening is the solution.

I also spoke with his father about the situation. I was nervous because I didn’t want him to think I was blaming him for our son’s feelings. Instead, I explained what had happened and what our son had told me. His father admitted that he had noticed some of the same things but had also assumed our son would eventually grow out of them. That conversation made me realize that both of us had underestimated the emotional impact of the divorce. We had focused on keeping schedules organized, making sure our son had what he needed, and avoiding obvious conflict. We hadn’t paid enough attention to the quiet grief underneath all of that. We both agreed that our son should never feel responsible for managing our emotions.

Since then, I’ve been trying to change how I respond when my son talks about the past. Instead of immediately saying that things are better now, I ask him what he misses. Instead of explaining why the divorce happened, I ask how he experienced it. Sometimes he talks for only a few minutes. Other times he remembers something I had completely forgotten. I don’t always know what to say, but I’ve learned that I don’t have to say something profound. Sometimes I simply tell him that I understand why that memory matters to him. I think those conversations have helped him feel safer. More importantly, they have helped me understand my son as the person he is now rather than only remembering the child he was when the divorce happened.

I still believe there is an important difference between processing pain and allowing pain to control your entire life. I don’t want my son to spend the rest of his life wondering what might have happened if his parents had stayed together. I want him to have healthy relationships, build his own family if he chooses, and believe that love doesn’t have to end the way our marriage did. But I now realize that I can’t force him into that mindset by telling him to forget the past. He has to arrive there on his own. My responsibility is to support him while he does. If he needs to revisit certain memories before he can let them go, then maybe that is part of his process. I don’t get to decide how quickly he should heal simply because I am ready to stop talking about it.

Looking back, I also understand why my words were especially painful. A parent telling a child to “get over” something can sound like a rejection of the child’s emotions. Even if the intention is encouragement, the message can easily become dismissive. I should have said something like, “I know the divorce still hurts you, and I want to help you find a way to move forward without letting that pain control your life.” That would have communicated the same basic concern without telling him that his feelings were unreasonable. Words matter, especially when someone is already vulnerable. I wish I had understood that before I spoke.

My son and I are still working through everything. One conversation didn’t magically erase years of complicated feelings, and I don’t expect it to. But I think something important changed when I stopped trying to convince him that he should feel differently. He seems more willing to talk now, and I feel more willing to listen. I also understand that rebuilding trust can take time. If he brings up something painful again, I don’t want him wondering whether I’ll become frustrated or tell him he’s being dramatic. I want him to know that he can be honest with me. Even if I cannot change the past, I can change how I respond to him in the present.

I still struggle with guilt because part of me wonders whether I caused unnecessary damage by encouraging him to move on too quickly. At the same time, I don’t think it is wrong for a parent to want their child to stop living in the shadow of a painful event. I just think there is a much healthier way to communicate that desire. Instead of saying, “Get over it,” I should have said, “I want to help you heal.” Instead of treating his continued sadness as evidence that he was stuck, I should have treated it as an opportunity to understand him better. I can’t undo the words I said, but I can make sure they don’t become the final message he remembers from this conversation.

So now I am asking strangers on the internet to give me an honest judgment. AITA for telling my son to get over the divorce? I genuinely wasn’t trying to dismiss his feelings or tell him that his childhood pain didn’t matter. I was frustrated because I love him and hate seeing him continue to struggle with something neither of us can change. I thought pushing him to focus on the future was helping him, but I now realize that I may have been rushing him through a process that belongs to him. The divorce may have happened years ago, but that doesn’t mean every emotion connected to it disappeared when the paperwork was finalized. I have apologized, and I’m trying to listen more than I speak. But I still wonder whether I was completely wrong for telling him that eventually he has to move forward—or whether that is something every parent has to encourage their child to do, just with more compassion.