I Don’t Know How to Talk About Divorce …

I’ve been told I’m not supposed to, but I hold a deep and fond appreciation for the wilder and more reckless choices I made growing up.  Admittedly, I had a preference for things that were exciting, fun, and reasonably risky with an adrenaline inspiring component. There is something magical about being young and not having any sense of your mortality. One of the things I often wax nostalgically over is bridge jumping. My friends and I would drive to the  marina in Huntington Beach, find the bridges closest to the residential docks, wait for the cars to pass so no one could call the cops on us for trespassing, then jump down into the ocean below. Only yards from people’s homes, we would swim until a resident inevitably screamed at us to ‘get off their lawns’, find the closest dock, then hop the fence and run off to the next bridge. Foolish maybe, but what a gift to jump without obsessing over every little detail around your landing. It was ridiculous and exhilarating and I miss the kind of freedom that came with being naive and young. Sometimes we jump off bridges for no other reason than sheer exhilaration.

I don’t know how to talk about divorce, but I need to.

If we are alive for any reasonable amount of time, life is bound to throw some negative shit our way. At some point, the fear of negative consequences (and social judgement!!) starts to impact and inform our decisions. This isn’t always a bad thing … Sometimes it teaches us that things like being the getaway driver, cooking bacon naked, or that telling your mom you’re at a friend’s house when you’re really drinking in Tijuana may be worth thinking twice about. But it’s not always a good thing, either. Sometimes it tells us to stay put and be quiet because we’re making others uncomfortable, because we fear they will disapprove, or because we risk losing our social circles if we reveal all is not well. Sometimes it fuels our desire to avoid certain realities, certain feelings, certain outcomes. Sometimes we can let it make decisions for us that it has no business making. We can forget to truly live or we may even forget who we are. After a lifetime of wrestling with the outcome of fear-based decisions, I’m not sure that I want the wrong kind of fear speaking into any more of my life than it should. Sometimes we jump off bridges not because it’s fun and exhilarating, but because it will save our lives. Divorce, and even talking about divorce, feels a little like that. I know it’s risky … I’ll go first.

I don’t know how to talk about divorce, but I want to learn.

Let’s be honest, we all need to learn. All of us know someone who will go through a divorce. It’s either going to be someone we know or it’s going to be us. Speaking from experience on both the giving and receiving end, most of us (individually and communally) suck at it. We really fucking suck at it. But despite all of that suckiness, I believe we will find our liberation in the telling of our stories and the willingness to be honest about our lives. I think we will find empowerment and healing in offering up the shiny, the not-so-shiny, the incredibly unflattering, the complex, the unresolved, the seemingly contradictory, the still-in-process about ourselves when we are ready. It’s important not just for us, but for others because it reminds us that we’re not the only ones. It reaffirms that this ‘being human’ thing is messy and disorienting for all of us. The world is truly full of simultaneously unique, yet shared experiences and divorce is one of them.

I don’t know how to talk about divorce, but I can’t let fear stop me.

There is so much that shapes the road leading to divorce,  so many different factors affecting why we eventually reach that decision. Why did I choose my partner? Why did they choose me? Why do I do the things I do? When and why did it start to unravel? Was it always this way? If so, how did I miss that? Why did I stay? How could I have fought harder? Why did I finally let go? Why did he let me go? I’m working to understand myself and what happened better, but to be perfectly honest, I’m afraid. And I don’t think it’s just me who feels like that. I am afraid of being seen. I am afraid of not being seen. I am afraid of my most inner and vulnerable places being known. I am afraid or having to relive my trauma, my loneliness, my anger, my grief. I am afraid of not being believed. I am afraid of being blamed – again. I am afraid of being judged – again. I am afraid of being abandoned – again. I’m afraid of being misunderstood. I am afraid of being exiled, afraid of losing what few friendships I may have left. I am afraid of again becoming the repository for shitty theology and fucked up Christian platitudes. I am afraid of hurting my babies and afraid of them pulling away. I’m afraid to see who I am. I’m afraid to be honest about my mistakes. This journey has brought with it so many reminders of how little we know how to walk with and hold space for other people during the worst, most agonizing moments of their lives. This journey has reminded me of how little we know how to do that for ourselves. Maybe you can relate. I know it’s painful …  I’ll go first.

I don’t know how to talk about divorce, but I want to get better at it.

I know that telling my own story doesn’t involve just me. None of us live in isolation, none of us live on an island that exempts us from interpersonal relationships or the complexity and conflict that inevitably occurs within them. My life is intertwined and intersects with the lives around me. My life impacts others. None of that is lost on me. Trying to figure out that fine line between telling my story and telling (or not telling) someone else’s has come with an immense sense of responsibility. I have wanted to be true to my own story while reckoning with the reality that I may be sharing things that another person may not want me sharing. My children never asked for this, so how do I honor and protect them? I have known my ex for more years than I haven’t … We met July 1, 1991. He’s an integral part of my story and there’s a great deal of beauty to celebrate within the 15+ years we spent married. How do I honor, even protect him? I’m committed to leaning into that … Divorce reminds you of how hard moving forward is at every turn. I know it’s heavy and confusing and that I may not do it right … I’ll go first.

I don’t know how to talk about divorce, but I don’t want to do it alone.

We are not doing each other any favors by not talking about the difficult things, the uncomfortable things, the things that society has told us we are supposed to feel shame or embarrassment or failure around. Because every time we go silent, we reinforce stigma for ourselves and others. We stuff ourselves back into a corner and reinforce this idea that somehow we are supposed to have it all together. When it falls apart it must be because we are really fucked up or super deficient or didn’t work hard enough at it. Divorce may have fucked me up, but I at least I’m aware of it. At least I want to know why and how in the hopes I can un-fuck myself. I want to take that journey and I know that some of you do also. And I think that by talking about the things that are terrifying and confusing and hard and painful and embarrassing will help facilitate that. I know it’s risky, but I don’t want to hide anymore … I’ll go first.

I don’t know how to talk about divorce, but I have hope.

I’m also going to gently push back on being gently pushed into silence anymore. In the weeks and months to come, I hope you’ll come with me for a more honest, vulnerable conversation about divorce. I hope we can reflect on our divorces and the divorces of those we know with grace, honesty, compassion, a warm embrace, and maybe a few well-deserved apologies. We owe them and are owed them. I hope that we can challenge some of our beliefs, both conscious and unconscious, religious and cultural. I hope we can go a little bit deeper and reflect on what happened in our own divorces. I hope we can venture out, ask hard questions of the people around us, and jump off of some bridges together. I hope we can reflect on what our churches, workplaces, social circles, culture, and communities convey to us about divorce and and start to create safer places for people who are/have walked through the worst time of their lives. I know it’s hard, I know it’s not easy, I know it’s scary and uncomfortable, but I promise you won’t do it alone. It won’t be perfect and it doesn’t have to be.

I promise we’ll be better people for it … I’ll go first.