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Getting divorced in midlife is a special kind of plot twist. Because suddenly… you’re single. And everyone else you know is still very much married. Maybe there’s one or two others in your circle going through it too—but for the most part, you’re the outlier. The one people look at with curiosity. The unofficial field reporter of modern dating. And your married friends? They mean well. They really do. But they got married when flip phones were still a thing. They have no idea

Divorce. Just the word can land like a stomach punch you didn’t see coming. It sounds so final, so official—like a door slamming shut in a house you’re still standing in. I remember the moment I understood my marriage was actually over. It wasn’t cinematic. No dramatic music. No slow-motion realization. Just a quiet internal click… followed by the sound of my confidence quietly packing its bags and leaving without even saying goodbye. If you’re here, you might know that feeli

Latte on a wooden bench Nobody warns you that divorce isn’t just an emotional decision. It’s a financial one. And sometimes — especially when you’ve spent years building something — the math is what keeps you stuck long after your heart has already left. But before I tell you my story, I need to tell you hers. A Woman I Never Forgot I worked as a collections agent in my early adult years. Surprisingly — for someone empathetic and compassionate — I actually loved it. Because c

So… you’re dating again. I’m sorry. Also, congratulations. Also… what are we doing? Because if you’re anything like me, re-entering the world of dating after divorce feels less like “getting back out there” and more like being dropped into the middle of a reality show you didn’t audition for. No script. No rules. Just vibes… and a man named Steve who still uses Hotmail. And here’s the part no one really tells you about dating in your 40s or 50s: The entire world of dating has

Am I a single mom, or am I co-parenting? A friend recently told me there’s a quiet debate around women who call themselves single mothers when an ex-husband is still technically in the picture — someone the children know, someone who shows up… occasionally… like a seasonal pop-up shop you forget exists until it randomly reappears. She warned me to be careful with that label. Apparently, it can make people uncomfortable. But it’s hard not to call yourself a single mom when, in

The Spark, the Roller Coaster, and the Boundary Queen Era Let’s start with the truth: after a year and a half without a single romantic spark, my body was acting like it was about to file a formal complaint. Not a gentle nudge — I’m talking full “we need to speak to management” energy. I told a friend that even my most loyal gadgets were starting to feel like interns doing their best with limited resources. She nodded with the kind of concern people reserve for small kitchen

A joyful winter moment as two friends share a playful kiss on their friend's cheeks. Where do I even begin? Therapy with Mario has been one of the greatest gifts God could have placed in my path. And before I go any further, I have to acknowledge my dear friend — my BFF — who will remain nameless for now, but who was absolutely instrumental in helping me take that first step toward growth. For that, I will forever be grateful. Before Mario, I had already done some work with a

Armed with my therapist’s wisdom (and let’s be honest, a slightly delusional amount of optimism), I jumped right back into the upside-down carnival we call online dating. This time, however, I wasn’t going in alone. One of my girls from the tribe, Margot, decided to join me. This is our story. Margot Single mom (one teenage boy) Insurance expert. Introvert. Owner of a backside so impressive it deserves its own postal code. Margot is the kind of woman who reads policy document

The Decision to Pause My dating hiatus lasted one full year. Why? Well, I really meant it when I said I would not date again after Simon — unless I was fully supported by a therapist. The day finally came when my therapist made it to my name on the waiting list. I felt like I had just won the lottery! Therapy and Transformation Mario and I got to work immediately. We dove deep into hunting demons, unpacking baggage, and rebuilding my dating confidence, piece by carefully exam

Choosing Your Hard: The Hidden Grief of the One Who Leaves People love a good narrative, especially when it comes to divorce. The story usually goes like this: the person who initiates it — let's say, her — packs a bag, grabs her favorite playlist, and drives off into the sunset to "live her best life." "You must feel so free," they say, as if I tossed my emotional baggage out the window somewhere around Exit 27 and never looked back. Head's up....: I didn't. Because even the

When I met my husband-to-be, my beauty routine was non-negotiable. Mani-pedi every two weeks. Facials and eyebrow shaping once a month. Hair? Every week, without fail. Basically, I was a walking Sephora subscription. I kept that up all through the courting phase — because, of course, love makes you glow (and so does $300 worth of salon maintenance). But once we got married? Suddenly my beauty routine was “too expensive.” Waxing, however, remained a sacred ritual… until it was

When Was I Ever Comfortable With My Body? Who am I kidding? When was I ever truly comfortable with my body? I remember being 25 — flat belly, perfect fat distribution, the whole package. And yet, I thought I was fat. (Dramatic eye roll.) Now, when I look back at photos of myself at 20, 25, 30, I want a Doc Brown in my life to fire up the DeLorean so I can go back and scream at younger me: “Put down the low-fat yogurt and stop crying over your nonexistent muffin top!” The Last

So… Simon came and went, and after discovering the monster that lurked in the dark corners of my subconscious mind (seriously, who invited that guy?), I decided to go on a full-blown hiatus. No dating for me—thank you very much—until I could put myself out there with the emotional support of a therapist. My bestie—neuropsychologist, guru, and human Google for all things brain—put me on the waiting list for her top psychologist. Good things come to those who wait, right? Excep

Gray divorce — the term for marriages ending after 50 — is one of the fastest growing trends nobody wants to talk about openly. Until now. The Shame of Being Divorced at 50 (and Why I'm No Longer Apologizing for It) I recently listened to a segment of Oprah's podcast where women — and their children — spoke candidly about the gray divorce phenomenon (I added the link below). There were tears, laughter, and that unmistakable relief of hearing someone else say, "Yes, me too." W

The timelines are a bit blurry, but I think I was turning ten. My parents were divorced. My mother had full custody of my sister and me, and my dad was—how can I say this?—absent in every possible way. Like, if “ghosting” had a championship, he’d have been the reigning MVP. Family and friends called to wish me happy birthday, but I was waiting for one call that never came. I remember crying in my room until my mother came in. When she asked what was wrong, I told her between

Simon Age: 47 Occupation: Video game developer Hair: Receding, but deeply committed to the strands still holding the fort. Looks: Cute enough. His Hinge prompts had me laughing so hard I hit “like” before my brain had a chance to intervene. We messaged for about a week, then graduated to actual phone calls. Talking to Simon was like tuning into my own personal comedy show — sharp, witty, timing so good he could’ve charged admission. Before we could meet, he had a business tri

The weather started cooling down. Back-to-school signs popped up on every billboard like giant reminders that my carefree summer fling with freedom was officially over. The emotional trauma of dealing with Santos had subsided (therapy, wine, and selective amnesia helped), but the lessons remained. The tribe came to a consensus: dating sites weren’t the real issue. Nope. The culprit was Facebook Dating—because apparently, it’s where hope goes to die. No quality matches. Just a

Everyone’s story is different. Some women never see it coming while others made the choice to leave. Whatever the case may be we all grieve the end of a marriage. Differently, at different stages but we grieve regardless. In my case, I felt relieved when he left. I felt like I was breathing better for the first time in years. Seeing my children’s pain however also brought strong feelings of guilt. So I acted on it. I overcompensated, I over-explained, I checked in constantly.