I felt so alone during my parents' divorce. It took me years to see that we're still a family

This First Person column is the experience of Breanna Bourque, who lives in Calgary. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

Stuffed into a booth at the Boston Pizza four years ago, we looked like a normal family of a mom, dad and four kids. We enjoyed our meal, stuffed our bellies and laughed until they hurt. 

Then my dad turned to us kids and said he and my mom were getting a divorce. The laughter stopped.

"Nothing will change," my parents reassured us. It sounded like they were quoting from a book about how to talk to kids about divorce. In the end, that wasn't how it panned out because my relationship with my mother changed drastically the following years. 

I am 19 and I want to share my story of pain and healing because I felt so alone during those initial years after my parents' divorce. And there's actually a lot of kids in Canada going through this.

My parents have had a rocky on-and-off relationship for as long as I can remember. 

Sometimes we lived all together as a happy family. Other times, my parents fought too much to live together. Us kids bounced between two abodes — my dad's apartment and my mom's house — whenever they were separated. 

My dad's apartment was my favourite place. We'd play Monopoly Crazy Cash — which showed me I definitely got my mother's competitiveness — or watch The Backyardigans and colour Disney princesses in my drawing books. I loved it, and I would cry at the front door, begging to stay just a moment longer when it was time to leave again. I would cry all the way to my mom's house and, even years later, I still get anxious when I say goodbye to my family.

But I have fond memories from my mother's house, too, like building marble tracks with her in the basement, raising chickens in the backyard and that time our trampoline blew away in a wild storm.

I liked spending time with each parent, but when they got back together I felt complete.

The two years before that lunch at Boston Pizza had been their longest separation yet. That's why I was so excited to be together for that meal, ignoring the gut feeling that something was amiss.

I was 15 at that time. I cried when they said they were getting a divorce and was annoyed when my mom followed that by saying she was seeing someone new. 

I felt like I had zero warning or time to prepare.- Breanna Bourque

The gravity didn't sink in until a couple weeks later. I was staying at my mom's, taking a nap downstairs when my mom called that dinner was ready. I ran up the stairs, past a man, nodding hello as I mistook him for a plumber.

Instead, he stayed for dinner. I felt like I had zero warning or time to prepare and, in the following months, I felt rage at this new situation. I took it out on my mom.

This was her fault, I figured. She was the one with a new boyfriend. I treated her badly — yelling awful things, skipping school and avoiding family activities. 

I thought she didn't love me. Every time I acted badly and accused her of not loving me she would say, "I love you, Bree, I just don't love your actions." I just got angrier. 

Eventually, when my mother hit her breaking point, she kicked me out and sent me to live with my grandparents and father.

In the year that followed, I had a lot of time to stew. I missed my siblings and blamed my mother for that, too.  

It wasn't until a family birthday party at my cousins' house that anything changed. We were playing Diminishing Bridge, all of us around a table. Suddenly my mom laughed at a joke my dad made and I felt my perspective shift. 

At that moment, I saw that even though my parents didn't love each other the way they did on their wedding night, they shared a mutual feeling of love for their children. We were still a happy family — just not on the terms I wanted. Maybe I could give my mom another chance. 

Two years later, my younger sister witnessed a fight between my mom and her boyfriend, and she left him for the sake of my siblings. That eased the last of my anger.

Now I know that the feeling my mother did not love me was simply not true. I started visiting her again on the weekends. We play board games and chat. Through that, I came to see I hadn't considered her perspective during a challenging time. It was difficult for both of us that afternoon at Boston Pizza.

It's hard as a child when you feel like you can't control anything or know what's going to happen. But in the end, the decisions my parents made weren't as bad as I expected. Now my parents don't fight like they used to and we are all happier. I guess that's what matters most.

Telling your story

This First Person piece came from a CBC Calgary writing workshop run in partnership Siobhan Kellar's English class with Calgary Catholic St. Anne Academic Centre.

To find out more about our writing workshops or to propose a community organization to host, email CBC producer Elise Stolte or visit cbc.ca/tellingyourstory. Read more personal stories from CBC Calgary writing workshops: