Things I Learned About Divorce

The unusual stuff no divorce article ever told me.

Divorce is one hell of a rollercoaster.

In my case, it dragged out before it even became a divorce. At the start of the pandemic, Joseph and I tried a Parenting Marriage. It turns marriage into a business partnership in raising the kids under one rook, without the romantic entanglement.

In other words, what my marriage already had been for years.

It sucked. It sucked balls hard. Joseph was a hysterical mess almost every day. A Parenting Marriage is the “least worst option” because it allows the kids to stay in the house with both parents, assuming both parents aren’t fighting every day.

It didn’t help; it’s not like I didn’t still have to deal with an at-home coworker who was like a teenager and made my life more difficult. After yet another blowup from him (this time in front of the kids), it dawned on me that I never want to live in a house where another adult can yell at me.

Note the use of the word “adult”. I’m aware that my kids will yell plenty as they get older.

For years I poured over divorce articles like secret porn. It was my fantasy. But I wanted to make sure I understood everything before I pulled the plug. It’s why I waited so long; I genuinely wanted to make it work a few years longer for the sake of the kids.

I don’t advise being under the same roof when going through a divorce. With financial constraints, kids being homeschooled due to Covid, and a foreclosure moratorium there wasn’t much option for me to move out. It was maddening and heartbreaking for months.

Two months before the divorce was finalized (in California, it’s a minimum 6 months of wait time from when you file to when you’re officially divorced), I moved out.

I’ve learned a lot throughout this process. Stuff the online articles and books never told me.

Moving out has a higher emotional impact than the divorce itself

I thought the day my divorce paperwork arrived in the mail, I’d be a hysterical mess. It was a mind fuck, don’t get me wrong. But moving out is what throws a bomb on your life.

That’s when the reality of everything kicks in. Telling your children and realizing that while you’re excited to finally move out, they’re dying inside from their world breaking in half. I felt (and still feel) guilty for wanting something to make me happy which brought them gut-wrenching heartache.

When you’ve been married for almost two decades, even if your spouse was absent (like mine), there was still an underlying partnership. Buying a home and moving in together was still an act done as a couple. The process of unpacking and adjusting is done together.

Suddenly for the first time since I was 23, I was on my own. Despite that I did everything during our moves, I had someone else in the house to at least break down the boxes or discuss home renovation projects. While it was liberating, it was also scary.

It’s not losing half of the big stuff that matters.

When I read that someone in a divorce lost half their stuff, I imagine the big things. Half the equity on the house. Half of the cars. Someone gets the TV and someone else gets the couch.

Those weren’t the things that tripped me up logistically and financially. It was the little things.

You don’t realize that you lost the can opener in the divorce until you’re seething in your kitchen holding a can that doesn’t have a pop-top. Put an order in with Amazon.

You don’t realize you lost the box cutter in the divorce until you arrive at your new house and you’re stuck using the scissors you remembered to bring. Time to swing by Home Depot.

You don’t realize you’re out of crafting supplies from the divorce until your kids are with you and you’re desperate to keep them entertained. Time to swing by my old house and grab years of crafting stuff.

You don’t realize you lost the basket in your living room until you try putting a blanket away that you used when sobbing on your couch in your new home. Time to hit up Target (which is easy because you’ll be there every other day restocking your home).

Those were at best nuisances and at worst, a slow financial drain. I didn’t budget for the small things I lost.

Nighttime is scary.

Even when Joseph worked until 3 am, I knew eventually he would come home. Being in a house that from the outside has a male presence is reassuring to a paranoid person like myself.

In a bizarre twist, when I have my kids I’m not afraid. Perhaps it feels like the old pattern of me being in single mom mode while married, putting them to sleep, and having the house to myself until Joseph came home.

This house makes some terrifying creaking noises at night. I imagined my hiding places if I heard someone coming up the steps. Drifting to sleep, I’d instantly wake when I thought I heard noises from my backyard.

Eventually, I set up security cameras outside (okay, half of them need charging but at least there’s a visual deterrent) and installed Amazon Ring sensors throughout the house.

Now, before I go to sleep, I hear Scary Alexa (the terrifying sister of normal Alexa) loudly proclaim “Home and Armed!”. My brain shuts itself off from my constant state of panic.

I miss having a tribe.

My friends are wonderful. Unlike divorce horror stories, I didn’t lose a single one. Nor did Joseph; we kept it amicable and thus, they had no reason to take sides.

But they’re not my immediate tribe. If something happens to one of them, the other one not only picks up the slack but also takes care of them.

Despite that Joseph was never around and was as useful as a bag of potatoes, he was still there. When I recovered from my “mommy makeover” (a term I’ll forever loathe), he took over. If I needed milk, I could text him to pick some up on his way home.

Most often, Joseph wasn’t there when I needed him. He worked far away and during emergencies, I was left on my own. I thought that independence would carry over to my divorce but it still feels isolating to not have even a crappy tribe member.

I don’t know what I’m called.

For the sake of the kids as well as my laziness, I kept my married name. I’ve had it for almost the entirety of my time living in the US and no way will I voluntarily deal with changing my citizenship paperwork.

It’s a no-brainer when you’re female and you get married. You become a “Mrs.” But now I have my married name…without the marriage.

Am I too old or not permitted to be a “Miss”? Do I go by “Ms.”? The latter makes me feel like an old-school marm who couldn’t find a man and lives with her turtle.

It feels like an emotional wallop when it comes up. Which is surprisingly more than you’d think between online forms and phone calls.

I wish I had gotten a Ph.D. in my younger years; I could go by “Dr.” and not even think about it.

Daily living is surprisingly easy.

Divorce sounds like it is hell for the first few years. I’m blessed that I’m financially independent, unlike many women who are screwed by a system that undervalues the work of stay-at-home moms.

While it’s still emotional hell at times, the day-to-day logistics of life are easy. I ran a household with two small children (one with autism) and a teenager called Joseph. Keeping the ship afloat was always my job. Paperwork, phone calls, dealing with contractors, paying bills, arguing about incorrect bills…it all fell on me.

Moving into my new house, keeping up with the day-to-day aspects of life is easy. Getting utilities set up and on autopay is something I can do in my sleep. I know how to manage the inventory of goods so that I’m never out of things like dish soap or let items expire. I can mentally tally how many cleaning rounds before I must clean the filter in my vacuum.

My friends were floored at how quickly I hired contractors to work on my home. That’s yet another task that always fell to me. It’s a natural part of my life now.

On the other hand, Joseph is struggling. This is a guy who had no idea how to change a furnace air filter even by the fourth home we lived in (I don’t think he even know air filters existed). I thought I would relish in his suffering in my absence but now, I help the poor guy out. He has no idea how to do basic everyday tasks and he’s drowning.

Stuff is exactly where I left it.

Shocking, right?

When I lived with Joseph, everything was a constant state of trying to find things because he’d use an item, not put it back, and then blame anyone but himself.

I might as well have lived with a gremlin.

On top of it, he suffers from an eyesight condition where he’s unable to find an item that is right in front of him. Not only did I hunt down the things he misplaced, but I also had to find the glaringly-obvious stuff without a hint of irritation.

Do you know how much easier life is when things are where you left them? Like, mind-blown-level easier. I find myself shocked when scissors are where I placed them or the remote control is clearly in view when not in use.

This list could go on forever. I’ll undoubtedly write more as I discover and learn more about divorce life.

Divorce surprised me in the craziest of ways.