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How a Season of Divorce Made Me Appreciate My Marriage
In the final days of college, my friends and I indulged in one last night of karaoke and dreams about our futures. We were all art majors, convinced we’d conquer New York and spark a new feminist art movement—one so profound and eloquent that it would leave people in awe of our creations.
That was the time for big dreams and feeling unstoppable.
As the years rolled on, we each found ourselves in relationships with incredible partners. We moved into tiny apartments filled with aspirations and snagged jobs that allowed us to start living as the adults we were becoming. Those carefree nights of cheap beer and karaoke turned into sophisticated martinis and fancy gatherings.
That was the era of dating.
Before I knew it, my friends were getting engaged to their perfect matches. We gathered for lunch to discuss caterers, DJs, bridesmaid dresses, and seating charts. I found myself standing in more weddings than I could count, my closet overflowing with taffeta and pastel colors.
That was the season of weddings.
Then came the whirlwind of new homes and growing families. It felt like a blur as friends announced pregnancies and moved into bigger houses. My credit card bills became a record of baby showers and housewarming parties. Pottery Barn was practically my second home.
That was the time of settling down.
While my friends embraced the rhythm of marriage, motherhood, and careers, I was in a long-term relationship with my now-husband, Michael. We didn’t rush into having kids, chase high-paying jobs, or buy into suburbia. Instead, we invested in a cozy fixer-upper in a quiet town, welcomed a baby, and eloped in our dining room. We held onto our dreams as best we could, with me running an art studio while Michael crafted boats. We lost touch with many old friends but made new ones, as often happens with the passage of time.
Then one day, my phone buzzed with a call from my friend Lisa. She was sobbing and wanted to meet at a café. When I arrived, I found her alone, tears streaming down her face. She opened up about her infidelity and the impending divorce.
For the next couple of years, I witnessed similar stories unfolding. Women who once exuded confidence and ambition found themselves signing divorce papers one by one. Their children’s schedules morphed to include custody arrangements. Friendships splintered under the weight of these changes.
I stood back, quietly observing from the sidelines. In heartfelt discussions with my friends now navigating the world of divorce, a powerful truth emerged: nothing lasts forever.
That was the season of divorce.
The once vibrant and tightly woven seasons of our lives slowed down. Our kids are growing tall, dreaming of love and changing the world. Names change again, and friendships fade into memory.
When my old college friends discuss their divorces, they often express concern for their children. While they are excited to embrace their single lives, they worry about what lies ahead. What I don’t share with them, what feels too complex to convey, is that their stories of heartbreak and separation remind me to be grateful for my own marriage.
As Michael and I work to balance parenting and our creative pursuits, I can’t help but wonder what new beginnings feel like for my friends, who once spoke with such certainty about their futures.
I marvel at how I navigated the season of divorce while my marriage stayed strong.
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In summary, reflecting on the seasons of life, from vibrant dreams and love stories to the sobering reality of divorce, has deepened my appreciation for my marriage. It’s a journey that reminds me to hold on tight to what matters.