Imagine waking up one day, bracing yourself for mediation with your ex-husband—wait, he’s still officially your husband until the paperwork is finalized. The name game is confusing enough. You glance at the date: it’s three days before the 25th anniversary of your first kiss, the one you both cherished more than your wedding day. Ironically, that date also coincides with Hitler’s birthday, which you used to joke about. Now, it feels like a bad omen.
After a year and a half of separation, he’s living across the country, and you’re left grappling with what to call him. “Ex” will have to suffice.
On that fateful morning, you stand naked in front of your closet, pondering your outfit for the mediation. You know jeans are allowed at work, but they feel too casual for a meeting in your lawyer’s upscale office. You’re damp from your shower and a little cold. Your robe, a soft yellow cotton you once adored, hangs just out of reach. Should you grab it? Nah, it’s time to make a decision.
That robe was a birthday gift from him. You had wished for it, but he chose a lovely one. Now, when you see it, it stabs at your heart like a sudden memory of your father, who passed too soon. Grief can be triggered by the simplest things: that robe, the moss your father loved, and even the art at MoMA. Perhaps it’s time for a new robe.
You’re still standing there, paralyzed by indecision, contemplating not just what to wear but what emotional armor might protect you from the day ahead. Kevlar? That sounds about right. As you catch a glimpse of your reflection, you think, “Who would ever love that?” The soft curves of your body tell a story of motherhood and loss, and your once-firm skin now resembles a deflated soufflé. Yet, those are your breasts, slightly defeated but still yours.
Turning to get a better look, you see your backside. It’s always been your least favorite feature, but now it seems less offensive. Gravity has been kinder to it than to other areas. Your body has changed over the years, particularly during college when you experienced a brief round phase. You remember how people treated you differently back then—more approachable but somehow less desirable. You met your ex during those years, when you felt both attractive and lovable.
Fast forward to now, you think, “I’ll wear the cream top.” It’s airy yet appropriate for a lawyer’s office. Pair it with a blue corduroy skirt and a cozy cashmere cardigan from your friend, Mia. Softness during difficult moments is essential, and you appreciate Mia’s friendship.
But there’s a hiccup—the zipper on the back of the cream top. You struggle to zip it up, breaking a sweat as you twist and turn, desperately trying to get it closed. In the past, your husband would’ve helped you, but those days are gone.
Frustrated, you consider other options in your closet, but stubbornness kicks in. You stare at your reflection and acknowledge your willful nature. The marriage may have been rocky, but you are who you are—stubbornness and all.
Suddenly, Nina Simone’s “You’d Be So Nice To Come Home To” starts playing, and you think of the potential for new love, albeit one filled with complications. You let a few tears slip—grief, loneliness, and flickers of hope intertwine. But you’re allowed these tears.
With renewed determination, you finally conquer that zipper, feeling a rush of triumph. It’s amazing what little victories can mean these days: a great song, a zipped-up top, and the flicker of hope.
You head downtown, dressed in your cream top, ready to meet your ex for the mediation. The subway ride feels surreal, almost like a date. Despite your exhaustion from juggling work and single parenthood, you are grateful for a rare weekend alone to focus on your overdue script.
In the lawyer’s office, the tension is palpable. The mediator reminds everyone that the little one still needs a father, which makes you want to scream. You’re hot and uncomfortable, so you shed the cardigan. The cream top feels freeing, ideal for this complex day.
As you breathe deeply, you recognize your transformation: soft yet resilient, shattered yet renewed. You’re not looking for Kevlar armor anymore. Soon enough, you’ll unzip that chrysalis and emerge unarmed, ready to face the world.
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In summary, preparing for a divorce can be as challenging as the emotional turmoil that comes with it. Choosing the right outfit goes beyond fabric—it’s a reflection of your inner strength and resilience.