During our final college weeks, my friends and I indulged in one last night of karaoke, filled with dreams of future success. As art majors, we believed we would conquer New York and spark a revolutionary feminist movement in art—our creations so profound that they would leave an indelible mark on the human experience. Those were the days of ambitious dreams and a sense of invincibility.
In the years that followed, we each dated incredible partners. We moved into cozy apartments, bursting with aspirations, and found jobs that made us feel like the adults we were becoming. We traded cheap beer and karaoke for martinis and upscale soirées. That was our season of dating.
Before I knew it, my friends were getting engaged left and right. Lunches turned into discussions about caterers, DJs, bridesmaid dresses, and seating arrangements. I found myself in nearly a dozen weddings in less than two years, accumulating a collection of taffeta dresses that would make anyone dizzy. That was the season of weddings.
The whirlwind of new homes and growing families came and went so quickly that it was tough to keep track of who was expecting and who was moving. My credit card bills looked like a log of constant baby showers and housewarming parties. Pottery Barn practically became my second home. That was the season of settling.
While my friends embraced marriage and motherhood, I was quietly nurturing a long courtship with my now-husband of a decade. We didn’t rush into parenthood or chase after high-paying jobs. Instead, we bought a little fixer-upper in a rural area, welcomed a child, and eloped in our dining room. At every opportunity, we shielded our dreams within the limits of our finances and lifestyle. I maintained an art studio while he built boats. Although we lost touch with many old friends, we forged new friendships as life evolved.
Then came a phone call from my friend, Jenna. She was sobbing and desperately wanted to meet for coffee. When I found her, tears streaming down her face, I embraced her and asked what was wrong. She revealed a painful story of infidelity and her impending divorce.
Over the next couple of years, I witnessed similar narratives unfold repeatedly among my friends. The once-confident women who had envisioned bright futures were now signing divorce papers. Their children’s schedules revolved around custody agreements, and friendships were severed. I quietly observed from the sidelines as these emotionally charged conversations unfolded. The recurring theme was a stark reminder that nothing lasts forever. That was the season of divorce.
The seasons that were once vibrant and full of promise have slowed down. Our children are growing taller and beginning to dream about love and changing the world. Last names are changing again, and more old friends fade into the background.
When my former college friends confide in me about their divorces, they express worries about their kids but also excitement at the prospect of being single again. What I often keep to myself—something I feel I cannot share fairly—is that their experiences of betrayal and separation serve as poignant reminders of gratitude and levity in my own marriage.
As my husband and I navigate parenting and strive to maintain our creative lives, I reflect on how I’ve managed to get through the season of divorce with my marriage intact. For those embarking on new beginnings, I wonder how it feels to experience such profound change after once feeling so certain about their paths.
If you’re interested in exploring more about pregnancy and home insemination, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy. And if you’re looking for a reputable online retailer of at-home insemination syringe kits, look no further than Make A Mom, where you can find quality products to support your journey.
In summary, the season of divorce among my friends has illuminated the importance of appreciating my marriage. As I navigate my own life, I carry with me the lessons learned from their experiences, forever grateful for the stability we have built together.
Leave a Reply