At a very early age, I learned that romantic love was not a fairy tale. I grew up with the belief that it was delicate—that it had a short-lived strength to bring someone to life. When my parents separated, I can only remember feeling confused. I didn’t have a preconceived idea of love or marriage. There wasn’t any hate. There wasn’t any heartbreak.

There were times when jealousy would rule my heart. Seeing families on vacation would trigger “what if” fantasies. Now, when I play those day dreams through to the end, I don’t like the result. I see a girl without the desire to succeed on her own. I see a girl who didn’t use literature to find answers to questions she was too afraid to ask. Does the heart heal? Can we fall in love after our heart has been shattered? Does love last? I see a girl who didn’t learn to form her own opinions. I see a typical girl—not a strong woman.

Amidst all of the confusion, my brother and I became best friends. There is not a doubt in my mind that the divorce led to our strong relationship. We confided in each other when we didn't understand why our family was different from our classmates'. We clung to each other when we traveled to Iowa to visit our Dad. My brother became the only person who understood my anxiety, my doubts, and my anger. I wouldn't trade our friendship—not even for happily married parents.

Sometimes I am asked if I would have had a better relationship with my parents if they would have stayed together. My first thought is always "Yes, of course." Yet, as I sit and consider every conversation I have had with my parents, my answer shifts to "No, I don't think so." The emotional strain that we all endured pulled us closer together. We saw each other battle heartache, and after the wounds healed, I developed a deep respect for both of my parents—and for myself.

I do believe that watching my parents separate contributed to my indifference to marriage. All of the emotional and spiritual power that often accompany the long-awaited vows are lost to me. In my eyes, marriage and love have a high probability of being mutually exclusive. As depressing as it sounds, I know that I have an optimistic, unrealistic sense of love that only my parent’s divorce could have spurred; I believe in regret-less love. Whether it is temporary or long term, I give my heart away without thinking, and when it breaks, I never look back and I wish that I could change my past. Despite the painful split, I know that my parents do not regret the decisions they made. They have both found peace. I cannot think of a better way to learn how resilient the heart is.