Pretend You're Good At Divorce

Guest writer, Elise, looks back on seven years since her marriage ended.

Hi, it’s me.

This week I’m sharing my friend Elise’s story with you. We met ages ago when our kids were still in diapers (she has four, I have two), and our sons are still close friends. Over the years we’ve bonded over our creative endeavors, winging it as parents, and figuring out our relationship to The Church, among other things.

She’s an amazing photographer.

Elise took senior photos of our kids in 2020 (Ruthie) and 2022 (Thomas).

I remember the day many years ago when Elise told me that, after years of homeschooling her kids as a stay-at-home mom, she was going to put them in school and get a job. She wanted to work at Starbucks, because they would pay for her to go to school. I remember this, because she said something like, Some day he won’t be able to work, and I’ll need to provide for my family.

I snuck (sneaked?) these shots of Elise in action, October 2020.

And you know what? She fucking did it. She got a job at Starbucks and went to school. I’ve always admired her for that, because I spend a lot of time and energy thinking about doing things, and Elise did things.

I think about this frequently, the decisions we make and the actions we take when the options are limited and we do the best we can to change the course of our future, wracked with doubt and self-gaslighting.

I wonder if you resonate at all with her story? Of the anguish over whether you made a right (or wrong) decision? And how you feel about it now, with the decision-experience in your rear view mirror? Or maybe you’re in decision-mode now and feel paralyzed by an unknown future?

See you below in the comments.

Until next time,

Jen

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Pretend You’re Good At Divorce

What I remember most about the days leading up to my divorce was anguish. I felt it early mornings at my neighborhood Starbucks, standing in front of the coffee urn, back turned to my waiting customer as I watched Pike Place Blend fill to within a centimeter of the cup lip. Sensing opportunity, my mind would immediately resume questioning whether it was because of him or because of me that I wanted to end it. 

Swiveling to the expectant face in front of the line, I’d forget until I was alone again waiting for coffee to fill the cup, adding up the columns in my head, endlessly repeating the arguments for and against divorce.

Early morning across the street from the Starbucks where I worked the opening shift.

Why was I unable to forgive? Had I forgiven but wanted out anyway? Was his alcoholism my excuse to take the freedom I’d been craving? Was I having an emotional affair with the man I’d met through my new job? Was this cheating, to sit next to someone, to flirt, to talk about life while I ate my chicken salad in the café before putting my apron back on and finishing my shift? Had I imagined everything, how bad his behavior had been? How at risk were the kids and I from his repeated drunk driving? What did they see? Why did I want to end my marriage? Why was I glad when he would drink and pass out? Was it so I could blame it on him and not myself?

Everything was impossibly tangled. I would eventually stop trying to suss it out. You know the story. I went to months of therapy (I still go), asked for a divorce, and here we are, almost seven years later.

The name tag I made my first day on the job and wore for nearly five years.

I was eighteen when I met him.

A senior in high school, I was fresh from a year spent abroad as an exchange student. He was twenty-four and the lead guitarist in the band that our mutual friend had invited me to join. I didn’t think anything of him the first week, but after the second practice I was hooked. Obsessed with the kind, trustworthy blue-green eyes, the warm voice that spoke carefully chosen words, asking me to help lift his Marshall amplifier onto the stage, the handshake with just the right amount of firmness, welcoming me to the band. 

I felt safe with him.

Recently I published my photography website! Here it is.

Picking up the kids from his house for their week with me, I asked them all to look for any errors before it went live. He looked intently at my work and expressed his admiration. One of the photos is of him with our young child. His response made me feel seen and valued.

If I had the option to do it all over, he is still the one I would pick. 

I don’t regret the choices I made, because they were the best I could have made at the time. The person I was could have done nothing different. Those were the lessons I had to learn. He is half of our kids. He is the only other person who loves them as much as I do. He has finally taken responsibility for his actions and is in real recovery. And he is still the person who knows me best and will always care about my welfare.

I would not choose him today. 

We aren’t aligned for partnership, other than the very important task of raising our kids together. Maybe without the drinking we could have stayed married and found a way to grow together while being independent people, but without him now for several years, I have found that I want something different than he can be, even in this new healthier version of himself.

I had worshiped marriage above all else. 

The daughter of divorced parents who did not protect me from their anger for each other, I sought to make my fantasy of a family reality. I married the first man who made me feel like my voice mattered, who would not yell at me, who would protect me from the judgement of my family. I felt like I could be a whole person because of my relationship with him. He always gave me whatever space I needed. He listened. He was consistent and loyal. He would occasionally be so present with me that I would forget about how lonely I felt in the marriage most of the time. 

I longed for date nights and adventure, community, fun. He and I were very differently wired. My heart is a trove of warm memories of our time with our kids. The last few years have softened my anger and I’ve been able to let go of my unmet expectations. Anger and grief have given way to gratitude.

I have a friend now, a real, abiding friend. 

And I am also my own best friend. I’ve taken up the responsibility for my own happiness.

So that’s the story as I see it today, without villain or victim, just two people trying their best and sometimes failing, making the most out of those failures. I am grateful for the man I spent nearly twenty years loving.

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Thank you for sharing your story, Elise.

Hope to see some of you in the comments! You can read and subscribe to Elise’s Substack here: