About this Blog


About this Blog: Divorce is something you do, not something you are. It is not easy, but it can be funny. I know hanging on to my humor gave me hope and courage. Divorce shouldn't cramp your style. There are whole industries devoted to helping brides plan their weddings -- why shouldn't we have a style guide for divorce?

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

It Helps a Little Bit

It helps a little bit to think it through.  It helps more to write it down.  It helps even more to talk about it.  I shared a lot of wine the other night with two of my "Artist's Way" colleagues, and ended up sharing quite a few of the deepest secrets of my married life and divorce.  I even sounded blase about some of my biggest missteps (let's just say fidelity to me is like a checking account, which sometimes gets overdrawn).  Oops.  Now what?  Should I be ashamed?  Proud?  Indifferent?  More to the point, why did I share?  To help myself?  To help someone else?  To just keep hearing the pleasant sound of my voice yammering on?  In my world, it's never too late to over-analyze something, so I'll do it now.

Whatever it is you went through whatever it was you did, or he did, or maybe it just happened and it sucked, it helps to bring it up and talk about it until retelling it completely bores you.  Until touching the sore spot doesn't make you wince anymore.  It only helps a little bit at a time, though, which is the hard part.  And the hard part is not the difficult part, which is that your friends and family will tire of you retelling the story long before you do, so you have to pace yourself.  But it does help a little bit, each time you do.

Then of course, once it's completely dull, you can add back in some of the more salient and salacious details.  You can prat fall on your ass and make it funny.  You can embroider it until it's simply beautiful.  You can frame it and hang it on the wall for everyone to see.  And then they'll ask to see it and hear about it, and tell you how strong and brave you were.  And you'll be all, well thank you, yes it did take a little effort to get over it, but I just kept trying.

Wednesday, October 9, 2013

The Land of Double Rainbows

I keep thinking about The Style Guide now that it's almost the ten-year anniversary of our breaking up (still another 3 years to go before we reach ten years post-divorce, but that's another story).

In an earlier chapter of the Style Guide, I wrote about how one of your goals should be reaching a point where you have to stop and think about the name of the guy you used to be married to - it's stopped being part of who you are, and he becomes "just some guy," indistinguishable from him, and that one, and what's his name over there. 

In this chapter of the Style Guide, I've discovered a new plane of existence.  After years, years of moving in the same or similar circles and having to either grit my teeth or consciously not roll my eyes in a variety of awkward situations, I've moved on.  Not just emotionally, but out of town.  Into another county even.  Since Purl turned 18, I'm no longer under any legal obligation to give him my new address.  I didn't either.  I didn't even have to do it willfully.  There's a new scope to this absence in my life, and I like it.

My new town could be called the Land of Double Rainbows.  It's a big valley, not very developed.  It's wrapped with hills, not mountains, and there are fewer firs, and they're up higher.  It's sunny.  A bunch of my houseplants got burned over just a few days (in October) from sitting near windows with Western exposure.  And something about the way the light in general bounces around makes rainbows frequently after it rains.  Usually you see the whole bow, not just an arc.  Often they are doubled. 

It's great.  It's a great place to live geographically, and it's a great place to be living post-divorce-wise.  No more forced politeness, which was always completely one-way anyhow.  No more pretending that we just grew apart and get along great.  Just me, my space, and lots of double rainbows.