8 Middle Adulthood 229Yet, I had every right to be in a relationship postdivorce, and his angry actions
only made selling the house more difficult and communication nearly impos-
sible. Still, I remained fairly strong and had the safe and comforting arms of my
new beau, to remind me that life does go on. Fast forward... the house finally
sold and Ned and I finally began talking and rebuilding our new friendship.
I realized I needed time without a man, and broke up with my beau to do some
really deep healing, alone. My children came home less and less.
It was the fact that the kids were living in NC with their dad that sent
me over the edge. It made sense because they went to college in NC and their
dad was there with rooms to spare. But, when I would talk to them on the
phone, I could hear Ned’s new girlfriend laughing in the background. She
was cooking for them, enjoying them, sharing their lives. I was far away and
felt rejected from a family that another woman was enjoying. I no longer had
a boyfriend, by my own choosing, no family nearby and the kids were with
their dad and his new girlfriend. I felt isolated, alone, and unwanted. In the
long, dark, New Hampshire winter of that year, 2 years postdivorce, I fell into
a substantial depression.
I had been seeing a therapist through the divorce and began seeing her
more regularly while I was dealing with this darkness of winter and my soul.
She strongly suggested anti-depressants, but I rejected them. After the divorce,
I found a spiritual community that supported and enriched my spirit and I was
studying to become an interfaith minister. I knew that the only way through
the depths of difficulty were to go through the difficulty. As the lotus blooms,
not in spite of but because of the muck, I was determined to feel every morsel
of my muck—my pain, every tear, every difficult step, until I was feeling bet-
ter again. I had a sense that I would learn more from the experience by not
numbing myself.
Looking back, I think I could have shortened the time of my sadness
with medication, but I wouldn’t have been able to know the depths of my
own strength to pull myself through one of my darkest times. I did it with the
strength of my own soul. I pulled up my own bootstraps and wrung out all the
drops of tears and sorrow like drops of water in a wet towel, wringing it out
until no drops of water were left.
The social impact of my divorce was interesting as well. In the very
beginning, I couldn’t say “divorce.” I felt there was such a stigma and I was
never going to be that stereotypical bitter, divorced woman I envisioned. I was
the first in my family to divorce, and so it didn’t feel comfortable to me in that
respect either. My friends were married. In many ways, I felt alone with this.
Thankfully, my sister-in-law in another state was going through the process at
the same time and we talked on the phone frequently, offering each other com-
fort and support. I remember asking my therapist if she knew of any support
groups for women going through divorce in our area. She told me to Google
for groups; so much for professional support. I didn’t find a group, but I did
finally find my strength socially. I still don’t have a network of single women,
but I’m working on it. I joined some meet ups, but haven’t attended any yet.
I will. I can say “divorce” now! And, I don’t see it as a stigma. I am divorced,
and happily so. I would have appreciated the routine and economic stability
and comfort that a long life with one’s partner may give, but I traded that for
self-respect and dignity. I traded that for finding my own voice again, one that