If you tuned in for Part 1, you know that it was heavy. What did you expect? Soul-shaping initiations tend to be weighty. They’re pulling you apart at your most collapsed places and reorganizing you for the light. Not exactly a stroll in the park. But the beautiful thing about our human design is that just when you’re sure you can take no more, when you’re on your knees praying for relief, when your arm is twisted behind your back and you’re screaming uncle at the universe—the slobbering monster that has you clenched in its jaws gets distracted by a shiny object and, boom, you’re released. Not forever, no. But at least until it gets hungry again.
Then there you’ll be, staggering around, dazed and bruised, trying to get your bearings. You’ve been a sherpa hauling around your angst for so long that it takes a minute to recognize that your load is a little lighter. It’s almost imperceptible at first. Maybe it looks like this: you just dropped the kids at school and you catch your eye in the rearview mirror. Your hair? Scraped into a scraggly, lopsided bun. Your undereye circles? Kickin’. Your outfit? An oversized T-shirt from your local mechanic, slept-in, stretched out at the collar. This is your usual divorcée-at-drop-off ensemble, but today something’s different.
TLC’s No Scrubs sneaks through the speakers and you hear another voice, faintly familiar, melting into the chorus. That’s odd. Someone else is softly singing along … ascrubisaguywhocantgetnolovefromme. What? Hangingoutthepassengerside… Wait a minute. Ofhisbestfriendsride…No way. Tryintohollaatme. Yup. It’s you. Those sounds are coming out of your body. You’re singing. You. The same human who, just four nights ago, while the kids were with their dad, made a dinner out of three bowls of Trader Joes’ Honey O’s doused in expired almond milk, and the sweaty, uneaten baby carrots from your kid’s lunchbox while making a gruesome list in your journal of all the ways you’ve imploded your life since you hit puberty, starting with the end of your marriage and working your way backwards.
And here you are, in your crumb-covered car, not only singing, but sort of dancing too, swaying your head around in short half circles and doing a slow shimmy with your shoulders. This is a major development. Everyone knows that you can’t sing unless you’re happy. You have to be at least moderately okay. Or totally fucking miserable. Either one. That’s it. No in-betweens. That’s how singing in cars (and showers) works. You do a quick mood scan and, yes indeedy, you do detect a tinge of lightheartedness. You’re dumbfounded. Flabbergasted. Maybe a little indignant. What exactly in the satan’s lair hell realm that has been your psyche for the last 14 months, is going on here?
Here’s what’s happening:
After years of wading through resentment, disappointment, and righteousness—which were especially swampy during the middle-end and end-end of your marriage, and into the endless dog days of early separation—your unwavering need to be right will begin to waver. The rock-hard block of control that sits heavy on your chest will start to dissolve like a sugar cube in a cup of hot tea. This will drop you into a state of relaxation unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, a place of soft non-gripping, a flopped corpse pose of release. You’ll stop caring if your ex goes to therapy. Or if his friends still blame you. You won’t call in a 4-alarm psychological trauma fire every time the kids recount the extra sugar or screens they had at his house. All this surrender will activate a flood of deliciously sweet brain chemicals that will …
help you start to see the humanity in your ex— again, and anew. As your marriage unravelled, your ex shapeshifted into someone unrecognizable, a masked stranger cloaked behind his own fears. You became an unknown, too. Now an ember of recognition sparks from the place you both share. If you’re co-parenting and he’s showing up for the kids—not showing up the way you show up, or the way your mom wants him to show up, but showing up in the best way he knows how to on his days, and the kids reflect that care—that is enough data to remind you that he loves your children as much as you do, and nobody else on earth will ever know the exact tenor of this love like you both do. This is a special kind of intimacy, even if it’s been distorted by pain. If your breakup has been especially contentious, allowing yourself to see your ex as someone who loves, and someone who can hold good and be good, will begin to thaw the icy chambers of your shut down heart …
And with this rosier perspective you’ll begin to see the upsides to this shared kiddo arrangement that felt Shakespearean tragic just a few weeks ago. In fact, you’ll find yourself wondering during your days without the kids – usually while slowly sipping a cup of coffee in your serene breakfast nook or taking a dinner hour bubble bath – why divorce with kids is positioned as such a bad thing for women ..
sure, now that you’re single-momming, you have to do things around the house you never had to do—take out the trash, find the batteries—but let’s be real, you’re also doing the things you always used to do—mainly managing the constantly spinning planets of each kids’ administrative solar system, providing an unending tap of maternal tenderness, showing up at work.
Yes, it’s weird and lonely-sad the first couple times you trip on the rug or slam your big toe into the coffee table and there’s no other adult around to dust you off and make you feel less stupid, but you got this, and when you decide to stop feeling sorry for yourself, you’ll get up and feel proud that you did, big girl pants securely cinched at your waist.
Soon you’ll come to treasure your solo nights. If freedom is even remotely important to you, you’ll taste a new flavor of it in this post-divorce universe, making plans, taking trips, strolling slowly. You remember this feeling from your 20s—Liberation! Possibility! Sleeping in! But this version has a more elegant bouquet, aged and nuanced. You’ll glide through airports, sit at restaurant bars, take an edible on a Tuesday.
And then, when the kids come back to you, you’re ready. Rested. Recharged. Rebooted. You can’t wait for their hugs and their stories. You’re tagging back in as a more available, capable, enthusiastic parent and ..
you’ll begin to notice how different it feels to be alone with them. No matter how young they are, they’ll note the space in the house and expand to fill it. You’re still the grown-up in the room, and at the same time there’s something more egalitarian about the whole setup. You’re a little squad now, a team. They need to help out more, help themselves and each other more, you can’t do it all alone. And they’ll rise to meet this new responsibility, wanting nothing more than to make you proud.…
and when your kiddo crew can’t do the thing, you’ll practice asking for help. This is a muscle that’s weak and flabby. You will strengthen it by asking for something you need. And you will need things. It starts with three words: I need help. This looks like coffee with a friend so you’re not stewing in your own ruminations. Or another set of hands so you can get some art up on the blank walls that have been staring back at you for months. Or letting a neighbor take the kids to school so you can make an early meeting. Each time you ask, and each time you receive, you’ll experience the tender, humble, anciently human gift of being supported by another. It’ll get easier the more you practice.
It’s all about practice. Divorce with kids is navy seal training for your mind-body-spirit. It’s a 12-month silent meditation retreat. It’s a vision quest. An iron man. Climbing Everest. You are building capacity and resilience and expanding your window of tolerance by getting your reps in every day, sometimes moment to moment. Every time you lift grocery bags that are a little too heavy, sit with loneliness and longing, find an extra inch of spaciousness in impatience, irritation, or frustration (with your kids, with your ex, with your boss), you’re breaking through calcified, outdated versions of yourself and making room for something new.
And part of what’s new is that you’re starting to feel a little better. You’ve been integrating the enormity of the death of a dream while trusting in the unfolding of what’s next. It’s noble, advanced, goddess-level work that requires steadiness and determination. So turn up the TLC and celebrate a little.
PS: If you’re dragging yourself through separation, divorce, or co-parenting you can book some time with me here. This is a customized, high-impact session for women who are emotionally hijacked, overwhelmed, or stuck in toxic mental loops. You will walk away with real tools and a new perspective.
Disclaimer: Notes from the In-Between is not a substitute for therapy, medical advice, or mental health support. If you’re in crisis, please reach out to a licensed professional.
Kind of crazy that a piece of writing this good has only one like and one comment from over a month ago. I know in the world of social media the hope is to go viral and take the world by storm. But I think the truly good and important things in life don't spread like a virus - they marinate the meat (see Pt 1) of the collective heart over time. Delicious.