“Can I ask you what happened?” The concern on her face was palpable as she posed a question I struggled to answer—not only for myself but also to a fellow parent on the playground, standing beneath our kids swinging on the monkey bars.
It was six months post-divorce when I realized that nobody was going to speak on my behalf regarding my situation. No one else would explain my children’s behavior stemming from this transition. No one else would address the questions about why I had changed my last name on social media. And no one would step in when someone, unaware of my changed circumstances, inquired about my ex-husband. While their questions were often rooted in genuine care, they also reflected their own anxieties.
After a heartfelt conversation with a dear friend, who asked, “Do you think your divorce was influenced by the fact that some of your closest friends also divorced?” I recognized that their concern stemmed from a mix of empathy for me and fear for their own relationships.
I get it. If you know me, you understand that I’ve never shied away from discussing my life’s challenges. However, I believe that the most valuable things in life often require hard work, and my life is undoubtedly worth the effort.
So, now that four years have passed since my divorce, I’m ready to share my story. Grab a snack and pour yourself a glass of wine (it’s 5 PM on the East Coast as I write this).
What unfolded was a journey shaped by societal expectations and personal struggles. Growing up during a time when the heroin chic aesthetic was celebrated and discussions about sexuality were cloaked in the toxicity of purity culture marked my early years. I vividly recall the first time I stood on my bed, phone in hand, declaring to a friend that I weighed 88 pounds and needed to diet. This moment was just the beginning of a long battle with self-image and societal pressures.
In youth group, conversations about sex rarely ventured beyond a purity pledge—a card I kept reminding myself symbolized my worth as a woman. The media bombarded me with images promoting unattainable beauty standards, leading me to believe that my value lay solely in my physical appearance. As I began to receive attention from boys, I mistakenly equated my worth with their interest and felt compelled to fit into a mold defined by others.
Through my teenage years, when I expressed discomfort with older men in my life, adults often dismissed my feelings. Inappropriate behavior was overlooked, and I was left to confront uncomfortable situations alone. I learned to navigate a world that often blamed victims, where advice on safety overshadowed discussions about consent and respect.
As I faced health issues and societal expectations, I felt pressured to conform to the idea that my worth was linked to my marital status and physical appearance. The stigma surrounding divorce, especially within religious circles, painted single or divorced women as failures rather than individuals seeking happiness.
Ultimately, a transition occurred. I became a mother and, in that role, began to reassess what I wanted for my children. I saw friends around me starting to embrace their self-worth, and I recognized the harmful impact of purity and diet culture that extended beyond myself. So, did my divorce happen because some of my closest friends experienced similar fates? Perhaps. Sometimes, the pursuit of freedom and peace is contagious—and for that, I am grateful.
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Summary:
Four years post-divorce, I reflect on my journey shaped by societal pressures, personal struggles, and the impact of purity culture. Understanding my worth beyond societal expectations transformed my perspective, allowing me to embrace my freedom and recognize the contagious nature of seeking happiness.