I feared divorce because of what it meant.
A failed life.
A poor choice.
A broken home.
I feared divorce because of what it was.
An end.
An exhale.
I feared divorce because of what it implied.
What it said.
What it whispered in the dark, in the corners of my mind.
I feared divorce, and so I avoided it. I wouldn’t look it in the eye, wouldn’t say “good morning” as it strolled by. I drove by on rainy days, leaving it in the cold.
Until I couldn’t run from it any more.
I turned, rage in my heart and tears in my eyes. I lashed out in agony, in bitter sorrow. All the broken promises, all the lies, all the pain of a lifetime I gave to it. My throat, raw with emotion and hoarse with exertion, unleashed all that brimmed within me.
And then, when my rage was spent, it held me close. Allowed the heat of my words to linger on the air. My head rested on its shoulder, tears streaming down my face. We sat there, a timeless moment, a point of time that stretched on, a sea of stars enveloping us.
I realized then, that I didn’t fear the one who now buoyed me in this new place. Where once I had seen failure, I saw hope. Where once had been an end, I saw a way forward.
I did not fear divorce.
I feared what would happen if I did not.
I am a programmer, writer, and mother. I work as a Senior Software Engineer at Mangomint. I write and talk about Elm, Vue, Vite, and other tools that I enjoy learning about and using.