They say that when you marry your spouse, you also marry their family. Sadly enough, these outside forces are what led to the demise of my first marriage β which happened to be an interracial relationship. We met at church, initially bonding over our shared spiritual beliefs and artistic interests. After 10 years of being together and a six-year marriage, I filed for divorce because I loved myself too much to lose myself β my true self, who proudly represented my culture and heritage.
In fact, they supported our union and treated my ex-husband with the utmost respect. We did, however, face opposition from certain members of his family.
It seemed like the family had developed false assumptions about me from the moment they met me. My first-ever encounter with them felt like an FBI interrogation, where they asked me inappropriate questions about some of the most intimate parts of my personal life.
We tried not to give the situation too much energy, however, because we refused to let it overshadow our day. Brewing tensions lingered from the day we announced our engagement to well after the day that we exchanged our vows. It created a serious problem, to the point where we witnessed grown-ass adults act like toddlers and throw temper tantrums for not getting their way. Of course, our cultural differences were to blame for these conflicts.
I could tell that racial bias clouded their judgment of me from the microaggressive comments that were directed my way. After our engagement, an in-law scolded us for not letting them know about the proposal beforehand, as if I had some magic crystal ball predicting when my ex would pop the question.
