Holidays and Brokenness

The road wound lazily through suburbia, bordered on one side by an upscale retirement community, assorted houses and neighborhoods on the other. Despite being two solid weeks past Thanksgiving, trees still held a few stragglers amidst naked branches. Remnants of yellow, red and orange dotted lawns ready to slumber for the winter, slightly crisp with frost and the amber morning light.

I slumped in the front seat while my mom drove, a fist holding up my face as I leaned against the window. Like most of our car rides, the drive was intermittently chatty and silent. My sisters piped up from the back seat and the radio interjected with holiday music in between. We were on a mission to find the perfect Christmas tree and bring it home.

And I wanted to be anywhere in the world but here. 

As a junior in high school, scouting out the local tree selection was the last way I wanted to spend a Saturday morning. But this was part of the process; this was what we did as we pieced our lives back together after my parents' divorce.

I'd spent two years numb after hearing the news that my mom and dad were splitting up. Life continued moving forward, propelling me with it, but I was underwater with clothes on, trying to kick to the surface. When your world is interrupted by an experience that impacts everything you know, everything about you, things are never the same. But you find a new normal. You patchwork the pieces until it's some semblance of whole.

A broken whole.

So for two years, my mom, sisters and I painfully walked through the motions. We woke up. We worked. We went to school. We celebrated birthdays and holidays. We painted our faces with smiles at all the appropriate moments, just like we used to. But it wasn't the same. It hurt a lot of the time. And it felt disingenuous because it wasn't real in my heart. Not yet, anyway.

Looking for a tree, standing it in our front picture window, decorating the boughs with ornaments and garland, was part of our walking. These were our motions. So despite our resisting hearts, we got in the car and made our way to the parking lot littered with dead evergreens.

"We're turning here."

I looked over at my mom, who aimed the car down a dirt road seemingly placed between two yards on the side of the road. 

"Mom, where are we going?" I asked.

She motioned her head toward my passenger window, where we saw a wooden sign haphazardly nailed to a telephone pole. The word TREES was scrawled across the board in black spray-painted letters, a crooked arrow directing left across the street.

My sisters and I collectively rolled our eyes. This was a classic mom move. For as long as I could remember, my mom was a sucker for deals. Whether it was the clearance rack at her favorite store, the Good Will or a grocery outlet, my mom couldn't resist. And with money tight after the divorce, she embraced these money-saving efforts more than ever. 

I never knew a road existed here, and a business or residence did not immediately make itself known. But as we drove a little ways, a small structure appeared on the right side of the lane. It was, from what we could tell, a small ranch house. Slightly dilapidated, with a sinking roof and patches missing from the siding. Random debris was strewn across the property giving the appearance of a house abandoned; but a thin swirl of smoke from the chimney said otherwise.

"Can we get out of here?" my younger sister snarked with a disgruntled sigh from the back seat. 

Without a word, Mom nosed into the patch of driveway leading from the road to the house. Unfazed, she got out of the car and strode to the house, rapping twice on the door. After a few moments, a man poked his head out. His face was covered in a dark beard, but his features were youthful. He wore working clothes: an old knit cap, an aging pair of cargo pants, and a well-worn flannel shirt. We watched them exchange words, and, with a smile, he gestured my mom to the center of the yard.

Here, several small pine trees were piled together on their sides. I got out and walked over to my mom to investigate. After examining a few, she declared one of the stubby evergreens a keeper. The man reached down with smudged and calloused hands to pick it up. Leaning against another tree, our Christmas tree barely stood taller than me.

"Do you have a tree stand?" he asked.

My mom's brow furrowed. "Oh. Well, we do," she started. "But we need a tree with a hole in the bottom. So it fits on the stand." She scrunched her face into a squint, as though willing a pre-drilled tree to materialize. 

"Is...is there any way you could drill a hole through the trunk for us?" she asked, apologetically.

He thought momentarily and nodded, walking back to the house to get the necessary tools. We waited, and my mom looked around like she'd gained admission to a new arboretum, pointing out pretty trees on the property.

A few minutes later, the man appeared again, trailing two little girls behind him. Their golden hair hung midway down their backs in tangles, their feet bare despite the biting wind and frost on the ground. They approached shyly, without jackets, their thin little arms exposed in short-sleeved t-shirts.

My mom chatted the man as he worked on drilling the hole. We learned that times were tough for him and his two girls. Selling these trees was a way to make ends meet, as he was between jobs and it was the holiday season.

The man helped strap the tree to our car roof, and my mom handed him money. He beamed. "Thank you," he said. Two little blond pixies stood at his side, waving goodbye as we pulled away.

"I hope they have a Merry Christmas," my mom said with a smile on her face. "Maybe we can drop off some food next time we drive this way."

As we drove home, tears pricked at my eyes. It became clear to me that our stop wasn't about mom getting a good financial deal on a tree. It was something all together more real, something my mom has always understood: that we're all broken or patchworked in some way. 

Mom never denied her brokenness, nor did she try to hide the imperfections of her life like a secret to be ashamed of. This was her life, and despite the fact that it was messy, she embraced it. And I think this made her attuned to the brokenness and needs of those around her. 

We were in need; the man and his daughters were in need. they were different needs, perhaps. But needs, just the same. We were unabashedly human and doing the best we could.

That day, down the dirt road in the yard of the dilapidated white ranch house, we experienced the communing of two broken families going through the motions, finding their new normal. I learned that in the communing of collective brokenness we are made whole. Our brokenness wasn't a detriment; rather, a gift that opened our eyes and hearts to the needs of the other. We were broken and we were okay. 

I was broken. Beautifully broken. 

But I was okay. 

Another Christmas carol flooded the speakers, interrupting the silence. I laid a hand on my mom's shoulder. 

"I hope they have a Merry Christmas, too."

Divorce Memoirs: Over It

::Over it::

"Hello?"

I answer the phone, expecting to hear my friend's voice on the other line.  The early October air has just a hint of chill to it, the leaves only just starting to change.  Homecoming Dance is a few weeks away, and we have just spoken about going together as friends. I assume he has forgotten some detail and needed to call back. 

Letters to a Divorced Kid: Part VII

Dear Friend,


I trust this letter finds you well.  I believe I'm winding down on the the things I have to share with you. I hope that you've found encouragement, support and even hope from the words of our correspondences. Everyone's journey is different, but if there is anything you've taken away, I hope it is "Don't give up."  Keep going. Keep processing. Keep talking. 


Keep healing.

Letters to a Divorced Kid Part VI

Dear Friend,


I've been thinking about you a lot recently.  Often, it is easy to forget the trials that others are going through.  They go through it day after day, minute by minute, while we go on with our lives.  So, I try to remember what your life is dealing with today.  I remind myself you may be dealing with this trial for a while, or off and on like a roller coaster ride.  That while my life happens each day as it normally does, you may be swimming in a sea of uncertainty, in a life that is unfamiliar to you. A life that you have to embrace because it is now your reality.

Letters to a Divorced Kid: Part V

Dear Friend,


It's a beautiful spring day here, and I hope the weather is treating you as nicely.  Sometimes it's an odd feeling to experience a beautiful day when there is something tragic happening in your life.  Even though I'm far removed from that time in my life, Spring was a confusing time for me in my parent's divorce.  My dad left in the Spring, and the day he left was warm and beautiful. It just didn't seem right.  I remember trying to explain that sentiment to some of my friends, and it went over their heads.


Here's the thing: People won't always understand.

Letters to a Divorced Kid: Part IV

Dear Friend,


How are you holding up?  I wonder how you've been processing my last three letters.  Do they resonate with you?  Is your experience all-together different? Everyone's divorce story is unique, but at the heart of every journey is the need to process, grow and heal.  I hope you are continuing to work through your emotions, thoughts and experiences.  

Divorce Memoirs: He Left It For Me

Another step in the journey through my parent's divorce...

~~~~~

::He Left It For Me::

Stepping off the school bus, I know that today is the day. I’m not sure what I had expected: grey skies drearily drizzling rain? A large moving truck to haul away his things?

Nothing.

Letters to a Divorced Kid, Part III

Dear Friend,


I hope you are in good spirits since my last letter to you.  I'd imagine you are still wading through a good bit of thought and emotion.  It took me a while to get a grasp on to what was happening when I found out about my parent's divorce.  And whether this is new for you or you've been dealing with it for a while, it can still take time.


When your parents get divorced, you feel a lot of things.  I spent a long time feeling numb.  I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t angry.  I just didn’t feel anything.  I kind of went through my 9th grade year in a haze.  I didn’t like being at home, because it was uncomfortable when they were both there. And they fought.  But I didn’t always have many other places to go.  


Eventually, I started feeling again.  I felt sad for a long time.  And that’s ok.  It often felt like I was going through the motions of life, but watching it happen instead of participating.  After my sadness started to wear off, I began to feel angry.  I was angry for a VERY long time.  I didn’t talk to my dad for a while.  This bothered him, because he just wanted everything to be ok. One time, about six months after he left, my dad called me on the phone. We were still on unstable ground in our relationship, and I remember him saying to me quite clearly, “Steph. This is getting old. You really need to get over this.” 


Can I tell you something? 


You don’t. 


You don’t have to get over anything until you are ready.  You are allowed to be angry for as long as you need to be. You are allowed to be sad for as long as you need to be.  And you are allowed to be OKAY whenever you are ready to be.


Don't rush your emotions.  Sometimes that can make you feel worse than just dealing with the present pain and confusion.  Sure, it's painful to face hurt or uncomfortable to face change. I found it to more painful to keep up an act, especially if it is one where you are trying to convince yourself that you feel differently than you really do. In the end, you are left back where we started, facing the pain you'd just tried to ignore.


Accept that you might be sad. You might be angry. You might be numb. You might be relieved, or even happy. Accept it and take it one day at a time. Know that however you feel is appropriate. Don't let anyone dictate to you the progress you need to make.


You'll get to where you need to be eventually.


Continue to process (it's healthy), continue to talk about your feelings.  And stay strong until our next correspondence.




Yours,

You can read more in the Divorce Series here. I'd love to hear your thoughts, your stories, your encouragement, your advice - so leave a comment below.

Check back Friday for the next Divorce Memoir.

Divorce Memoirs: I Knew

The next chapter in my story from the Divorce Memoirs...

~~~~~

::I Knew::

I was laying on my parent’s bed, the afternoon light filtering in through the windows behind me.  After arriving home, I’d thrown off my backpack, and trudged up the stairs to their room.  I’m not sure why. I had no reason to be in there, and yet, I wanted to be there.  Needed to be there.  Because something in me knew.

I lay on my back staring at the ceiling, legs crossed at the ankles, my hands draped lazily over my chest.  How many nights had they laid side by side staring at this same ceiling? Talking about their day.  Dreaming of their future.  Flirting before intimacy.  How many nights had they fallen asleep side by side, together?

I wonder how long those nights had been numbered.

Three weeks had tortuously crept by since learning that something was significantly wrong between my parents.  I had gathered every ounce of courage to breathe the question of divorce, my world crumbling to my mother’s answer of Maybe.

Maybe.

Maybe they would get a divorce.  

But maybe, just maybe, this would all be okay.  Maybe I would wake up, and maybe this would disappear.

Maybe.

Yet, I knew.

Laying on my parents quilted bedspread, I knew.  It did not come to me as a grand epiphany, rather a paced journey to understanding.  It came slowly, starting at my finger tips, making it’s way up my arms, and down to my toes until it completely radiated from every part of my being .  I knew.  I knew it would not be okay. And somehow, I knew exactly why. There was no earthly reason for me to know, no one had told me. Nothing about it was obvious. It made absolutely no sense.  Yet, it made perfect sense, and I had to shake my head of the fog that told me it had always been my reality.  No, this is new. And it is true.

I knew.

She entered the room, not surprised by my presence.  The same absent stare, the same clothes as the day before.  She was living life by going through the motions.  Wake. Walk. Talk. Eat. Walk. Sleep. Perhaps, if she was consistent, if the routine became rote, life would make sense again.  She hoped.  

Words came from her mouth, asking me how school was today.  I answered that it was fine.  She looked at me briefly, even managing a smile. My legs still crossed at the ankle, my hands now clasped behind my head as I observed her.

Her body bent in half to pick up a few more items from the floor before bringing itself to the upright position.  I hadn’t intended to ask, but as she turned to make her way out of the door,  the words quietly began forming on my tongue. She was halfway out into the hallway when I found myself asking confirmation for that which I already knew.

He’s having an affair, isn’t he?

She stopped. Midway into the hallway, her form halted and became a statue.  Perhaps she hadn’t heard me correctly and was trying to decide whether she should ask for clarification.  Perhaps she heard me perfectly and was too stunned to do anything but freeze.  

Slowly, almost comically, her body swiveled to face me.  Her eyes still wide and blank, but her brow now furrowed, horrified.  Her mouth set, slightly drawn down on both sides. She knew. She knew I knew.  And I wonder how much of her was relieved to have someone else know, to not be alone in her nightmare.  To have someone to hold on to as the world ceremoniously fell away in various pieces.

As if she could respond in no other way, she tilted her head up and back down.  Once.

I don’t know how much time passed.  Somewhere a clock was ticking. A second? A minute? A year? Our eyes never left each other.  Begging not to know. Begging to wake up. Begging for a different answer.

Can I guess who it is?

She stared at me, her expression unchanging. Her silence, affirmation.

Is it Gail?

One. Slow. Nod.

I knew.

And now we knew.  Now, we were in this together.  Partners in this hardship. A team. Never has being on a team ever felt this lonely.

Her lips parted slightly, her eyes squinting as though she were concentrating on a difficult riddle.  We stared at each other a few seconds more before she asked, her voice barely audible, how I knew?

I shrugged.

I just knew.

And with that, she turned and followed her original trajectory out of the room, into the hallway, down the stairs and away from me.  I sat, my legs crossed at the ankles, my hands clasped behind my head, wishing for even a moment of blissful ignorance.  

Because once you know, you can’t unknow.

You can’t forget.

And I’ll remember this for the rest of my life.

~~~~~

To catch up on previous Divorce Memoirs or to read other posts in the Divorce series, you can find other posts here. More of the series to come next week.

How has divorced touched your life?  What is your story?  Leave a comment and tell us about your journey.

Letters To A Divorced Kid, Part II

Dear Friend,


I hope this letter finds you well.  Last week when I wrote you, I shared a bit of my story.  Being 15 years old and learning that all was not okay on the home front was a life-altering experience for me.  There is so much to deal with in the beginning years of high school, it took every ounce of me to keep going through the motions of life while, life itself was crashing down all around me. 


I had a long road ahead of me.


Here’s the thing: Divorce sucks. It just does.  Because it is something that is out of YOUR control as the kid, but totally affects every part of your life. No one ever grows up thinking that they will have to face dealing with divorced parents.  We all paint a picture of our future, our life. And in that picture, our parents grow old and grey and happy together.  There is something comforting about that image: knowing there is this constant in your life you can always count on.


So when you get the news that your parents will be getting divorced, it’s like the rug is pulled out from under you.  The constant you thought you could always count on becomes a variable.  It is unsettling, upsetting, uncomfortable.  And it does a lot of crazy things to your heart and mind.


First, you aren’t sure who you can trust.  Do you trust your mom?  Your dad?  Do you have to pick sides?  You don’t. You don't have to pick sides. You are on both sides. Because they are both your parents. And you love them both, even when you aren’t happy with the things they are doing. You love them both, even if one (or both) has hurt you.  


Maybe one of your parents walked out without looking back.  Maybe one of your parents left for another person.  Maybe your parents have amicably come to the conclusion that divorce is simply just the best option.  Regardless, they have a place in your life, in your heart. And regardless of how you feel about one (or both) of them presently, remind yourself that they will always remain your mother or father. This truth, however difficult it is to swallow, will help you in the long run. 


Even though life feels topsy-turvy, it will even out. More advice to come next week. Hang in there, friend.

Yours,

~~~~~

You can read more in the Divorce Series here. I'd love to hear your thoughts, your stories, your encouragement, your advice - so leave a comment below.


Check back Friday for the next Divorce Memoir.

Divorce Memoirs: Maybe

Last week, I started a post series on the topic of Divorce.  One aspect of the discussion will be a letter I have written to a kid dealing with divorce (shared over the course of several weeks). Another aspect I am introducing today. Weekly, along with the letter, I will be sharing some narratives I've written on specific memories  I experienced over the course of my parents divorce. I hope it encourages you to tell your stories, to partake in discussion, to be apart of the conversation.  In case you missed them, you can go back and read the Intro post and Letter to a Divorced Kid, Part I.

Thanks for being apart of the journey.

~ Steph

~~~~~

Maybe

One word.  It took only one word for my world to start to crumble.

She gave me an unexpected answer. The day, imprinted perfectly in my mind, was New Year’s Eve and I was dress shopping with my mom. The Winter Formal was only a few weeks away, and it would be my first official high school dance. I had missed the Homecoming Dance, due to a prior family engagement, and regretted it terribly. There were so many stories of what I had missed: boys I could have danced with, songs I could have swayed to, laughs I could have exchanged, the dress I could have worn.  I didn’t know I would miss so much more, only months later.

Mom put the car in park, and absently opened the door with her left hand.  Her face, vacant. Her hair, unwashed.  But she had insisted we go out and find a dress.  And after a week of barely hearing her talk, holed up in her bedroom, I obliged.

I struggled to concentrate on the myriad colors and cloth on the racks in front of me. I couldn’t stop stealing glances of Mom, who wandered aimlessly around the store.  Every once in a while, her arm would slowly raise to touch a dress, feeling the soft fabric between her fingers.  I began to worry that maybe something was really wrong.  Was she sick? I wondered. Did something terrible happen that I know nothing about?

I found a dress that met the stringent qualifications to make an appearance at a high school dance, so we paid and walked back out to the car. I let my mind wander as the ignition growled and the car jumped to life.  There was an uneasy feeling building in my stomach, a question I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t bring myself to give it voice.

Sometimes we ask questions because we know the answer. Because we need the answers to be true.  To never change. These answers are the constants in a life of variables. We have an arsenal of these questions. We hold them dear because they give us comfort, give us life.  Because we know the answers, and as long as our answers remain constant, our universe stays in place.  We are safe.

Attempts at small talk were futile at best.  I wanted to dig into whatever problem I was sensing.  Are you ok, Mom? She answered with a shrug.  Do you want to talk about it? She shook her head. Following the lead of my gut, I asked, Does it have to do with Dad? Eyes glistening, she gave me a small nod.

Asking the question was inevitable.  I mentally unearthed it from my bag of Constants.  The anxiety was building and I needed to find comfort, fast. I needed to ask so that my axis did not tilt and my world did not shift.  I needed things to be ok.  So I drew in a breath and asked.

Are you getting a divorce?

Silence.

Maybe.

Sometimes we ask questions because we know the answer.  To find comfort. To be assured that the constants in our life were still constant. That things are under control.  That we are ok.

It started with a small piece here, followed by a larger piece there.  Slowly, my world began to crumble, right there in the car, all around me.  With one word, the biggest constant in my life became a variable.  With one word, my axis tilted, and my world began to fall apart.  

Bit.

By.

Bit.  

Would I be ok? Would we be ok?

The only answer I could come up with:

Maybe.

~~~~~

Read the next chapter in Divorce Memoirs: I Knew.

I hope you'll share a comment with your thoughts, questions and stories. 

Letters to a Divorced Kid: Part I

A few weeks ago, I shared that I had been doing a lot of thinking about divorce:  my own experience with my parent's divorce, the impact divorce has on our society and culture, but most importantly, the affect divorce has on kids.  I've felt led to post a bit on the topic, in hopes of ensuing discussion.


I have realized that most people have somehow been touched by divorce. Whether from a distance or very close and personal, no one who is touched by divorce comes out unscathed.  It's worth a conversation: how we've been affected, how we are still dealing with our own experiences, how we are healing, how we are not healing, how we can encourage others.


Not long ago, I wrote a letter to a young person very dear to me who is dealing with the divorce of his parents. My heart aches for all the kids whose lives are disrupted and futures are altered because their parents split up.  


Mainly because I was one of those kids.


So, I wanted to share the following letter.  It is similar to the one I wrote my young friend. And while it is aimed at kids - who often feel lost, confused and alone when dealing with divorce - I think it speaks to any of us who have faced divorce.  I'll share the letter in several parts over the next few weeks, as well as some memoir writings of my own experience in dealing with the divorce of my parents.  


I hope you'll read. But more so, I hope you'll share your stories, pass these stories along to those who need it, and be apart of the discussion. It is how we learn, grow and heal.


~ Steph

~~~~~

Dear Friend,

I know you don’t know me very well, but I grew up in a divorced family.  I was a little bit older than you, about 15, when I found out that my parents were going to get divorced.  I was absolutely devastated when I found out.  You see, I thought I had grown up with the “All-American Family.  And even though many of my friends had parents who had divorced, I did not think it was possible for divorce to happen to mine.  My parents did not fight much (not in front of me and my sisters, anyway).  So the news that my parents were going to get divorced came as a VERY big surprise.  

It’s funny, but I kind of knew something was up before they told me.  I was in 9th grade, and I distinctly remember that my parents were kind of being odd on Christmas morning.  My mom was sitting on one side of the room, my dad on the other. Not much talking was happening, and it did not feel very festive, despite the fact that it was Christmas.  We were all opening gifts and wrapping paper was everywhere, but something wasn’t right.

All of Christmas break, my parents did not talk.  My mom spent a lot of time in her room.  And my dad was on the phone a lot or out of the house. Finally, on New Years Eve, I asked my mom, “Is something wrong?  Are you going to get a divorce or something?”  I threw it out there, because it seemed ridiculous. But I wanted to ask, so she would say “NO. Of COURSE not.” Just to make myself feel better.  But she didn’t.  She said, “Maybe.”

And I felt like the world stopped. A few weeks later, I found out that my dad was leaving. And a few months after that, he finally did.  My mom fell apart. My dad grew cold and detached.  


And I was left to figure out the pieces.

~~~~~

More to come next week.  Check back on Tuesday for more of the Divorce Series.

Divorce: A Post Series

Divorce.


It's kind of everywhere.  


Statistics show that the American divorce rate holds strong at 50% (with second marriages coming in at 64%). That's half. Half of American marriages end in divorce.  So, even if you are happily married, chances are divorce has impacted you somehow.


Since divorce is so prevalent, I feel like we as a society have become somewhat numb to it.  You hear someone is getting a divorce, and the sentiment is something along the lines of "Oh, that stinks" and you go on eating your dinner.  It's unfortunately become not a big deal.


But it is. It is a big deal.


You see, I am happily married.  Sure, it is hard at times, but Hubby and I believe in marriage, commitment and family.  I look forward to the decades to come of my life with him. Despite finding my Prince Charming, and working hard to live my Happily Ever After, I cannot ignore the fact that I have ish to work through. 


Fact: When I was 15, my parents got a divorce. It was a rough one, although not as messy as some.  It was not amicable.  It was not pain-free. So, I may be married, and intend on staying married until death do us part, but I have lived through the divorce of my parents, so I can speak firsthand about how divorce affects people.  


Particularly kids.  


My parents divorce has deeply impacted my life.  I still deal with the emotional and mental aftermath, even today.  I think it is important to realize that divorce affects people: the people involved, the people who know the people involved. No one encounters a divorce without being affected.  And I'd go as far as saying that divorce, even the most amicable, can really mess you up.  Divorce challenges what you believe about life, love and the pursuit of happiness.  It pokes holes in your ability to trust, to understand commitment, to experience love.  


But we do a disservice to those dealing a divorce when we chalk them up to being "another statistic."  As a 15 year old first learning about my parents divorce, I wanted to scream to the world, "I AM NOT A STATISTIC!  THIS WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE MY LIFE."  Since divorce has become so commonplace, we quickly move on from the news of a divorce.  Yet, we forget that the people involved do not move on.  They live in the reality of the divorce. It's something they face every day. They hurt. They get angry.  They make poor decisions. They regret.  Like someone living with chronic pain, they are unable to escape what they are living through.


There is nothing so isolating as watching people live life around you as you are stuck in a nightmare you can't wake up from.


What we forget most of all is the people who are hurt the most: Kids.  While I do not necessarily agree with divorce, my experience has helped me realize that sometimes divorce is the only (or best) answer in a given situation.  I do not say this lightly.  And while two adults make choices that impact their relationship, there are small people involved who have no choice in the matter.  No choice, and often no voice, yet they will wear the scars of the battle.


So, I've started writing a bit about what I experienced dealing with my parents divorce: the onset, the process, the aftermath.  I'm not sure where to go with this post series, but I know writing has helped me process over the years.  It is my hope that:

• This can be a resource to people dealing with divorce. 
• It gives those of you who have not dealt with divorce first-hand a better understanding of the implications of divorce. 
• This series can give divorced kids a voice, and the adults in their lives a better understanding of how to help them through the process. 
• It will give those of you who have beenimpacted by divorce a chance to process and work-through your own stuff.  

I'd love to hear your stories, what you've learned, how you've healed,  and your advice to others. 


So stay tuned.