What is Divorce?

The dust is settling. Final papers have been drawn, agreements made, and schedules started. Things are slowing down, and at the end of this unforeseen and tumultuous year, I finally am at a place to reflect on not just the enormity of change that has occurred, but how incredibly grateful I am for all that I have been shown in the process. It has humbled me in ways that I never thought possible, made me realize that these circumstances don’t just happen to “those people” – they happened to me. Divorce has profoundly changed me from the core, in ways that will leave indelible scars and those for which I will be eternally grateful.

Divorce is the death of a dream and a life – reconciling that anything and everything that you have ever planned for your life is now no longer possible. It is reframing and reshaping every moment about growing older with that person, holding elderly hands and rocking in chairs on a porch watching your grandkids play in the yard, reveling in the life that you both created together. It’s saying goodbye to your best friend, the person to whom you’ve told every single secret, who knows every heartache, your childhood best friend’s name, and the way you are feeling just by looking at you across a room.

Divorce is still seeing that person often, juggling the same minutia as before but cocking your head to one side in the midst of it, trying to catch a glimpse of the person you once knew – wondering, “Are they in there?” It’s going to the bathroom at Starbucks, peering in the mirror at yourself, and reminding yourself that no, they aren’t – but more so, neither are you. It’s accepting your new relationship as one of a business nature, with your two children being your sole investment.

Divorce is making a choice to lay aside your pain and your grief to conduct that business the best you can. It’s compartmentalizing the past so you can focus on the present and future because two beaming faces who adore you both don’t care about whose fault it is; they only care that they are loved and that their life is as unchanged as it can be. It’s laughing together about silly things these little pieces of us say and then feeling a twinge in that same moment. It’s inviting your soon-to-be-ex-husband over to wake the kids up on Christmas morning, open presents together, and cook breakfast because you know that they simply wouldn’t enjoy Santa without their dad there to be excited about the Death Star Lego set waiting under the tree. It’s silently enduring your son hanging his stocking on your mantle because “we have to remember him” and you simply don’t want to crush your son’s already broken spirit during Christmas. It’s taking an interim position at your son’s elementary school solely to help him adjust to the change and to get to still kiss him every morning and afternoon.

Divorce is revisiting every memory you ever made together and questioning its true existence – “Did he love me then?” and “Was that real?” It’s coloring the past ten years with a lens of grief, betrayal, and resentment. It’s hating someone so much that you lost 4o pounds because you have to share a house with them for months. It’s having the courage to turn the magnifying glass back on yourself to realize that a marriage is comprised of two people, that you, indeed, contributed death blows to the relationship as well, no matter how much you want to assign blame to the other person. It’s re-examining your quirks, flaws, and missteps, wondering if you had made different choices that this trajectory would look different. It’s resting your head on your pillow at night with the acceptance that those flaws existed from day one, and that the trajectory was set from hello.

Divorce is learning forgiveness – the real kind – forgiving another person for leaving you, whether it is physically or mentally. More so it’s forgiving yourself, in more ways than one. When you marry, you become one person, so the wounds that you inflict on your spouse you inflict on yourself as well. You forgive yourself for expectations too high, for nagging, for enabling, for neglecting…for taking everything for granted. Forgiving the other person is the easier task; forgiving yourself is much harder. But in doing one, the other comes, whichever comes first.

Divorce is a relinquishment of your Type-A obsession to plan every detail to perfection, because it simply can’t be. It’s accepting that plans can really only extend into next week for now and leaving the rest up to God. Divorce is embracing the lack of control and for the first time, reveling in living in the moment.

Divorce is finding out who your true friends are, not in the cliche way, but in the “talk to at 1 am” kind of way – not just once, or once a week, but every single day for two months kind of way. You finally stop holding it all together and allow yourself to crumble into the arms and voices of friends who selflessly give up sleep and time with their families to carry you with their ears and words. It’s the friends who know when to say, “Absolutely not. I will drive across this state and stop you if you continue this way of thinking” and the ones who bravely speak truth to say “You were wrong. Own it.” It’s the former students and parents who show up to help you pack up the memories of your home and schlep it across town. It’s the ones who haven’t spoken to you in ten years to reach out to you online to let you know they are praying for you – so many people that you truly don’t have enough time to respond to them all. How incredibly humbling.

Divorce is literally being carried by the thoughts and prayers of a multitude of people and never having the words of gratitude to express it. I’ve had friends who came over just to take hostage my computer (and still have it), cried with me at my kitchen table over coffee, set up my new bedroom, and babysat at a moment’s notice. Divorce is the friend who talks you through breathing exercises in a panic attack in your bathroom floor while your kids watch Disney Junior in the living room. It’s the friends who keep up a Pinterest board of encouragement for you, and the ones who hold your hand, take you kayaking, and find ways to make you smile through your blurred tears.

Divorce is remembering that the most important people in your life are your family. It’s the mom who literally drops everything to be physically there, who coordinates life when your mind is reeling. She takes part of your dad’s inheritance to buy a home five minutes away for you to rent and co-sign on a car loan after a wreck because your debt-to-credit ratio with your mortgage is tying up your credit. And she calls six times a day just to talk and be a touchstone and never judges the story that got you to this place. It’s the sister who vehemently holds on to the righteous anger against your ex-spouse on your behalf and reminds you in your weaker moments of who you are and sings angry girl songs at the top of her lungs with you in solidarity.

Divorce is seeing change as opportunity – realizing and accepting that no matter how much sleep or weight you lose, that you cannot change a single thing about these circumstances other than yourself. It’s viewing your life as a blank canvas now, one to be filled with colorful adventures and knowing that you alone hold the brush. It’s hitting the restart button and deciding which programs you want re-installed, most of which will not – and that’s okay.

Divorce has given me one of my greatest griefs and gifts all at once. My life will always be marked pre-and – post this moment, but I’m grateful for the chance to start over and create the life I desire. I’m grateful that he and I love our children more than each other so we can be the best mom and dad to our children, even if we weren’t the best husband and wife to each other. There are not enough words to express the gratitude I have for the women who have surrounded me with their love and encouragement – my “people” and close friends but also the strong women with whom I had only counted as admired acquaintances I now count as friends because they’ve shared their journeys with me. Ironically, I’ve never felt more alone and loved at the same time.