I’m a divorcee.
Sometimes I still can’t believe it. Growing up, one of my dreams was to fall in love, get married, raise a family, and live happily ever after. Yet here I am in my late thirties, divorced, childless, and living with roommates in a rental property in the second most expensive city in the country.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my life. With the exception of a few details, I wouldn’t change a thing. Every once in a while though, it becomes physically impossible to block David Byrne’s voice out of my head: “How did I get here? My God! What have I done? Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down….”
I’m thankful I’m not living in Victorian times when divorce wasn’t even a real option. Or in the 1950s when divorce must have seemed like a personal affront to June Cleaver. Thank goodness times have changed. Or have they?
Our country’s political correctness has resulted in having a lot of incorrect and not-so-nice words changed on the paperwork we fill out for pretty much everything. Remember when Asian-Americans used to have to classify themselves as “Oriental”? It wasn’t that long ago. But there’s still one piece of unnecessary information that lives on in the relationship status box on our paperwork. You guessed it: “divorced.” Why can’t the marketers of the world be satisfied with knowing that I’m just single? Is there some crazy plan to niche-market certain products to divorcees? Maybe full-sized cars with larger trunks so we can secretly pack away the china and the bath towels we didn’t get when things ended?
I know what you’re thinking. I sound like one of those bitter, sad women from the divorce group in Jerry McGuire. The truth is, I’m not sad and I’m not bitter. Getting divorced was the right thing for me. Just while I was writing this I figured out what I really am. I’m ashamed. Maybe the times have changed, but it seems I haven’t changed with them. In fact, the times are kicking my ass and because I’m ashamed I didn’t stop my marriage from ending, I’m letting them deliver quite a beating.
