Divorce & Starting Over

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

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

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

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.

“Awareness is like the sun. When it shines on things, they are transformed.” — Thich Nhat Hanh So, the kids met THE girlfriend and, let’s just say, they weren’t exactly handing out glowing reviews. Their impressions were vague. I didn’t pry—though every fiber of my being wanted to interrogate them like a detective on a crime show. But I wasn’t going to be that mother. So, I let it go… but I did get a name! Now, I’m truly over my ex. I mean that with all my chest. Our relation

After 22 years of marriage, I didn’t expect to find myself single, over 40, and emotionally supported by a 300-year-old vampire named Dimitri. But here we are. Some women ease into solitude with yoga and green smoothies. I, on the other hand, escaped into books where the men are half-wolf, fully ripped, and declare their undying love in the most unhinged, possessive ways imaginable. It’s toxic, it’s dramatic, and honestly—it’s working for me. Life in the Post-Partner Lane Bei

I saw them today—my ex in-laws—for the first time since the announcement. The first time since Mother’s Day, when the silence from their side became deafening. No more texts. No more calls. Just an empty space where family used to be. After 24 years—twenty-four years of shared meals, shared grief, shared joy—they were gone. And I don’t just mean physically. I mean emotionally. Spiritually. Entirely. I helped plan their baby’s funeral. My first nephew. He died in vitro. I orga

It started with the wallpaper. Faded, floral, and clinging to my kitchen walls like it was still 1987. I stood there with a steamer in one hand, a scraper in the other, and exactly zero knowledge of what I was doing. But I’d made a decision: I was going to remove it — all of it — probably. Somewhere between burning my fingertips on the steamer and discovering a second, equally offensive layer of wallpaper underneath, I started singing along to Unstoppable by Sia like I was au