I thought when you fell in love and married, it was forever. I ruthlessly judged the few divorces I witnessed as moral failures. My family stayed together. Through immigrating to America. Through my mother’s alcoholism and my father’s depression. If a family we knew did split up, I’d think, “Why can’t that family suck it up? They must not love each other enough. They’re probably spiritually bankrupt.”
But my marriage crumbled. Slowly at first, but soon gaining momentum and growing into a fat snowball of suck. It was over way before it was over. But like any painful, life-altering change, it played out in terrifyingly slow motion.
My ex-husband (who I’ll call John) and I coexisted for about two years before there was even a discussion about divorce. We married in 2005, and it won’t be officially over until this coming June. We didn’t fight; we just didn’t talk. I resented his job. He resented me resenting his job. We loved our two kids like crazy, so if ever the word “separate” or “divorce” came up, we’d buckle under the guise of “we must keep the family together,” though we were already decidedly apart.
I took the first big step by having an affair. Some obvious advice: This is a stupid way of telling your spouse things aren’t copacetic. When I offered up this information to John, he wasn’t as shocked or as angry as I wanted him to be. So I acted out more. The harder it became to maintain any sort of day-to-day consistency in our marriage, the more I blamed John for the mess my life was becoming.
We almost reached the point of hating each other. During the years leading up to our actual divorce, we filed and retracted with the courts three times. I moved out. Then he moved out. Then we split for reals. He took my picture out of his wallet. We changed our Facebook status. We both hired lawyers and meekly began to investigate the plethora of ways to dissolve our union, none of which were pleasant, but some of which were definitely more civil than others.
Though I was unfaithful, California is a no-fault state, meaning the dissolution of our marriage didn’t require a showing of wrongdoing by either person. Thank. God. Because I did some serious wrongdoing. There were addiction issues (mine) and excessive career demands (his). I got lost for a while. There are an endless amount of bad choices to be made if one wants to focus their attention away from a divorce. I drank. I started smoking again. I became a crappy friend. These choices caused a shit-ton of wreckage that I now have to work through as well. So don’t do that. Look at the divorce as an opportunity to grow, not an excuse to go backwards.
The legality of splitting up is absolutely overwhelming. California is a community property state, meaning all the crap you acquire during your marriage is equally owned. So there’s the potentially nail-biting adventure of dividing up furniture, plates, art, and everything else. We didn’t have this problem. Neither of us cared much for stuff. We read book after book about the numerous types of divorce. There’s straight-up divorce, where both parties go to court and let the system dictate the way things are going to roll. This was terrifying to me and not what my ex wanted either. There’s mediation, where you and your soon-to-be ex figure out what is best for you both while meeting with a neutral third party. And there’s collaborative divorce. Just like mediation, you decide custody, financials, and all the other stuff together without help from the state. We agreed on this last option because it meant we both had representation, there was no power imbalance, and it allowed for divorce coaches. Those guys prevent you from tearing each other’s face off, something that seemed most agreeable to us both.
Once we figured out the method for our divorce, our biggest fear continued to be hurting our little ones. We were referred to an awesome place called Kids’ Turn, a San Francisco–based organization that provides services for families in transition. There are classes to help the adults learn to co-parent in harmony, while down the hall the kids get to be with other children their age who are going through divorce as well. They can ask questions they may be afraid to ask their parents and the staff helps them cope with their feelings of loss, fear, etc. My kids had all of those feelings. They still do at times. This program helped them understand that they aren’t the only ones in the world whose folks split up. It helps them see we are still a family, just in a different way.
My son now greets new friends with, “Hi, I’m Van. My parents are divorced.” But that’s okay. At least he’s processing it aloud rather than becoming inwardly confused. And my kids seem undeterred. If anything, they’re more capable. They know who will be with them on a given night. They know we love them and will always take care of them. They know their dad and I still love each other. They know this split is not their fault.
A parent in my daughter’s class who was successfully raising her kids with her estranged husband referred us to a Bay Area therapist named Susan Pease. Susan’s website explains that she helps couples “reconnect or disconnect” from their marriages. Eh, we were going to take the latter. She also wrote a book called Contemplating Divorce: A Step-by-Step Guide to Deciding Whether to Stay or Go. Well, after contemplating the shit out of our marriage, I set up an appointment with Susan and we met to talk about how to start this process with the least amount of animosity. She was fair and unshakable no matter how upset I got, or how unsolvable a problem seemed to be. We left her sessions calmer, usually with some sort of future planning homework, and with our intentions refocused toward our children.
San Francisco is a city that’s synonymous with modern families. I feel like there’s minimal judgment here when it comes to deciding to separate. Starting out, I felt like I was the only one of my peers who had failed in their relationship. But when the crazy in my brain quiets down, I acknowledge that my best friend is divorced. My boyfriend is divorced. My ex’s parents and his sister are divorced. As is my brother. I’m beginning to think married people are the minority.
Though being open and honest about our situation is helpful and freeing, if one more person tells me divorce is an opportunity to grow, I will lose my shit. I went into this split armed with the support of my friends, but no one could prepare me for how much it would sting. I mourn the loss of my relationship with that wonderful man. My stomach still turns when we have an appointment with our lawyers. I have to take one day at a time and accept that how I’m feeling is normal.
I sometimes feel as if part of me died in the divorce, but I get to come back as a badass single mom, with whatever life I choose to design. This theory holds fast only on my good days.
I do see a light at the end of a very dark tunnel, though. I can picture me and my ex parenting together. We are harmonious in custody arrangements, and rarely disagree when it comes to our little guys’ upbringing. Divorce hurts, and there’s no way through it but to go through it.
I wish divorce were as easy as getting married: skipping down to the justice of the peace and ripping up our marriage certificate just as easily as we obtained it. Alas, I actually have to be a grown-up, make grown-up decisions, and be emotionally mature. I fell out of love, but still love John. We are beginning to live separate, full lives. My challenge is to now become a woman who can pick herself up, accept my reality, and continue to grow in this undefined role.
