In the chaotic final weeks of college, my friends and I embarked on a memorable night of karaoke, fueled by excitement and a few too many drinks. As art majors, we were convinced that we’d soon be conquering New York, launching a new era of feminist art that would leave people in awe. Those were the days of big dreams and limitless possibilities.
As time flew by and we navigated our early twenties, each of us found ourselves in relationships with incredible partners. We moved into small apartments, filled with creative aspirations, and finally landed jobs that made our lives feel more adult. The cheap beer and karaoke nights morphed into martinis and elegant gatherings.
Then came the whirlwind of engagements. One by one, my friends said “yes” to their amazing partners, and our lunch dates turned into discussions about caterers, DJs, and wedding plans. I stood in what felt like a dozen weddings in just under two years, my closet becoming an archive of taffeta and pastel dresses.
The phase of swollen bellies and new homes followed swiftly. It was hard to keep track of who was expecting and who was moving. For nearly a year, my credit card statements read like a diary of baby showers and housewarming parties. Pottery Barn had practically become my second home.
While my friends embraced marriage and motherhood, I found myself in a comfortable long-term relationship with my now-husband of 10 years. We took our time with children, avoided high-paying jobs, and opted for a quaint fixer-upper in the countryside. We eloped in our dining room, nurturing our dreams within the boundaries of our financial and social circumstances. I kept an art studio alive while my husband crafted boats. Although we lost touch with many of my art school friends, we forged new friendships as life evolved.
Then one day, my phone rang. It was my friend Lily, sobbing on the other end, asking to meet at a nearby coffee shop. When I arrived, I found her alone, tears streaming down her face as she shared the devastating news of her affair and impending divorce.
In the following years, I witnessed a similar narrative unfold among my friends. The once confident women, certain of their bright futures, began to sign divorce papers. Their children now navigated custody arrangements, and friendships fractured under the weight of betrayal.
I watched quietly from the sidelines, absorbing the emotional conversations that marked my friends’ transitions to middle-aged divorcees. The predominant theme was a stark reminder of life’s impermanence: nothing lasts forever. This was the season of divorce.
As the once vibrant seasons of our lives slowed, our children grew taller, dreaming of love and the future. Names changed once more, and friendships faded into the distance.
When my college friends confide in me about their divorces, they often express concern for their children while also feeling a sense of excitement about returning to single life. What I rarely share is how their stories of heartbreak and separation instilled a deeper sense of gratitude in my own marriage.
My husband and I hold on tightly to our relationship, managing the challenges of parenthood while piecing together a creative life. I find myself reflecting on what my friends must feel as they embark on new beginnings, once filled with certainty about their paths.
I marvel at how I managed to navigate the season of divorce with my marriage still intact. For more insights on navigating these complex emotions, check out our other blog posts at Home Insemination Kit.
In summary, the journey through the seasons of life—from college dreams to adult realities—has given me a profound appreciation for my marriage, especially amidst the backdrop of my friends’ experiences with divorce and change.