During Divorce, Your Life Status Is “Pending”

Burn your calendar, you won’t need it.

If you’re Type A, autistic, or a project manager, then you’ll hate the divorce process. At some point in my life, I have been any or all three.

Divorce is meant for the lucky folks capable of going on vacation with no itinerary other than “Show Up”.

Most standardized legal events have a process that is roughly the same for everyone. Applying for a passport is the same for everyone; it’s the same form, we take the same type of pictures, and we submit the same fees. If ten people submitted their passport applications at the same time, then they will receive their passports on roughly the same day (barring outliers like incomplete forms).

Not divorce. No two divorces are the same. There are too many variables to make a standardized process. Do we pay the same court fees? No, because low-income folks can pay less. Do we pay the same for expert help? No, because lawyers are all over the place. Does it take the same amount of time to process? No, because everything in a divorce feels like a one-off that’s handled on a case-by-case basis.

In a pre-separation life, I’d already have my kids’ after-school program forms filled out and paid. Our photographer would be scheduled for our holiday pictures, to be taken sometime in October. My son’s birthday party for next month would be paid for and invitations sent.

But that isn’t my life. My life is Divorce Purgatory.

I had to convince Joseph to allow me to put the kids in after-school care. Now that he works remotely from home, he wants to pick them up at 3:30 every day. I can’t commit to that with my work schedule. He’s delusional for thinking he’ll help them with homework while keeping them off electronic devices for the rest of the day while he works. Plus, our kids were isolated for over a year; they need socialization. My son also gets behavioral therapy every day and having other children around allows them to work on his social skills.

Having to get his “permission” is unnerving.

Holiday pictures will be me and a cell phone, begging my kids to take pictures while wearing nice outfits for 30 minutes. I probably won’t send holiday cards, anyway.

My son’s birthday party is another dilemma. I don’t know what places didn’t fold during the pandemic. In the past, the cost wasn’t an issue when it came to my kids’ parties; I probably averaged $600. My son is fine receiving money like he got last year (what with quarantine and all) but I feel passionate that we should attempt to do something. His birthday is too hot to hold in a park, which is the cheapest option. I’m kicking the can down the road on this problem; I’ll figure it out after school starts.

Everything feels TBD (to be determined) in my life.

A friend asks me if her family can use our pool late next month. My instinct is to yell “sure” but with Joseph, everything is a rollercoaster. Will he be super cool, given that he wants to do a Legoland trip the weekend before? Will he be a raging asshole because of some mistake on my part? I mark it down in our shared Google calendar and bestow a positive affirmation that it will happen. We’ll see up until that morning if I’ll have to cancel due to Joseph’s attitude.

Our house is currently under refinancing to get my name off the home loan. I call the insurance company to have my name removed from the home insurance. I get bombarded with questions.

“Will your name be taken off the deed?” Uh, I assume so.

“When will you be off the home loan?” I dunno, however long it takes for a bank to process a refinance right now.

“When will you be moving out?” I don’t fucking know, given that my name needs to be off the home loan for me to do that.

Not having answers to these questions skyrockets my anxiety. I already swim in an ocean of anxiety-ridden thoughts all day; that’s my baseline. When I actively notice an increase in anxiety, that’s when my body short-circuits. My arms and fingers start tingling. My heart pounds like I’ve run an emotional marathon. I start obsessing.

Fortunately for me, writing my thoughts helps my anxiety. Not by much, but it helps. So here we are, Medium readers.

It’s an odd place to only answer, “I don’t know” when asked about my life. No idea what my future monthly mortgage payments will be like or when I’ll be able to buy a house. I can’t even wrap my head around, not knowing where I’ll be for Thanksgiving.

I wish I had been warned about all of these unknowns during the divorce process. Being the Type A researcher that I am, I thought I was prepared for the logistics. I thought my divorce would be easy.

Instead, I’m in life limbo. There is only one answer when asked about my future: I don’t know.