It's Ok To Get Divorced. No, Seriously.

I realize this goes against popular belief. But hear me out.

By no means am I saying that I don't believe in love or marriage. Actually, it's the opposite. I can't wait to get remarried. But when I think about what that means to me now, I think of  joy, warmth, expansiveness, kindness, growth, partnership, and, most of all, FUN. Once it stops being any of these things (especially fun), as much as it crushes me to say, perhaps it's time to reconsider.

The reality is the timelines of life have changed. We're living longer and marrying later, which means more experiences and more time to consider what we really want. By now, most of us have winding tales of unabashed love and failed relationships; epic wins and missed opportunities; light-hearted flings and broken hearts; congratulations and condolences; acts of boldness, and endured complacency. Yet, our cultural paradigms regarding marriage and modern love have not evolved. The overly simplified rhyme we sing as children—love, marriage, and the baby carriage—is long overdue for an update. While the opening chorus may still be the same, the soundtrack is missing some lyrics, such as: if-it-doesn't-work-out-that’s-ok, plus exes, custody schedules, nontraditional families, second marriages, prefixes, and patience (lots of patience). One only has to look at my immediate social circle to understand this to be true. But therein lies the disconnect, with almost 50 percent of American families divorced or blended (1300 new stepfamilies are formed daily in the US!); why is it still so socially taboo? Unfortunately, the answer to this question is more involved than I can reasonably capture in this post, but let's give it a go over the next many months.

As for me, my story is hardly unique. Marriages end all the time (see above stat). Mine, in particular, began at 25 years old. Given my upbringing (hello, child of divorce with an absentee mom), I lacked a North Star, a benchmark for love and relationships. I didn't understand the gravitas of marriage, how to be a good partner, or the profundity of motherhood—though I do now, on all accounts. And while I did my best to learn on the fly at 33, I found myself at a crossroads: stay complacent or forge ahead alone. I chose the latter.

Since then, I have learned that divorce is undignified, humbling, and heartbreaking but sometimes necessary. I have also learned that no matter what, I’ll be ok; being alone is soul food; dating is exhausting; falling in love is magnificent; and blending a family is monumental, clumsy, and complex, with brilliant moments and challenging ones too. And while there's no playbook for modern divorce, I thought starting a new life would be easy, but easy, it was not. Reaching the other side required me to surrender to the healing and the process. So I did. I accepted the terms of the universe, defined my beliefs, honored myself, mended my soul, saw energy healers, conjured spirits, lived with ghosts, burnt sage, had psychics on speed dial, meditated by moonlight, hosted sound baths, went on laughable first dates, second ones too, deciphered texts, sent sexts, spent quality time with my daughter, invested in deep friendships, and discovered how to be an "I" so that I could better be a "we."

Having been the first of my friends to get married, the first to get divorced, and in some cases, the first to become a mom, and later a single one at that, I have spent years giving advice and sharing my experiences over coffee, late night calls, restless texts, and waterfront walks. But when it came to writing, I didn't want to write about that; I wanted to write about love and what happens after you find it. However, the more I thought about it, from the lowest lows to the highest highs, I realized the spirited story of the single mother-of-one finding new love was not the only message I had to communicate, and it isn't as beneficial to those in the thick of it trying to get to the other side. Considering it takes the average woman 3 to 5 years to leave, the deeper, more helpful narrative begins in the past rather than the present. In other words, how I and others gradually got here – from separating to dating to trusting and self-loving– would ultimately serve more powerfully.

From the profound to the absurd concerning love, fate, healing, and home, this newsletter tells the story of being a girlfriend, a wife, a single mother, a lover, and my whole self in my forties, interwoven with the stories of friends whose experiences are worth reading too. I hope anyone who reads this understands that the seemingly impossible is possible. And at the same time, they recognize the piece of themselves they've perhaps folded up and tucked away and are finally ready to reveal.

So much about life is out of our control, but happiness and joy fall beneath our jurisdiction. Simply put, there are no guarantees, no givens, and no obligations to stay in an unfulfilling marriage, not even for the kids—especially not for the kids. They need to see dancing in the kitchen, hear laughter from the other room, glimpse hands squeezed and faces caressed; they need to live the love, so when it's their time to find a partner, they have a high bar to measure a relationship against. 

I leave you with this, as Nora Ephron once wrote in her semi-autobiographical novel Heartburn, "We hang on, and if it doesn't work, we try again with the next one." To some, that might sound heartbreaking; to me, it sounds profoundly freeing. 

Photo by Gayle Brooker