I’m divorced.
I don’t believe in divorce.
I realize those two statements don’t seem like they should belong together. But if there’s one thing divorce has taught me, it’s that two seemingly contradictory things can be true at the same time.
I filed for divorce in 2023, and it became final in 2024. But I thought about divorce for nearly six years before I ever filed.
That’s a lot of time to imagine what life on the other side might look like.
I imagined peace. I imagined that once the marriage was over, the conflict that existed inside it would end with it. I knew divorce would be difficult, of course. I knew there would be grief and financial consequences and an entirely new version of motherhood to figure out.
What I didn’t understand was that divorce isn’t a problem solver.
It ends a marriage. That’s it.
It doesn’t make someone communicate better. It doesn’t make two people suddenly agree about parenting. It doesn’t make resentment disappear. It doesn’t guarantee that two parents will put their child ahead of their feelings toward one another. And a divorce decree certainly can’t manufacture cooperation where there isn’t any.
I genuinely believed that if I kept doing the “right thing,” eventually we’d get there. If I stayed focused on what was best for our child, didn’t engage in unnecessary conflict, followed the orders, and kept trying, eventually things would settle down and we would learn to co-parent peacefully.
Three years later, I’ve had to accept something much harder:
You cannot co-parent with someone who is unwilling to co-parent with you.
Sometimes what comes after divorce isn’t co-parenting at all. It’s learning how to parallel parent. It’s accepting that you can control what happens in your home, but not the other one. It’s watching decisions you would never make and learning where your authority ends. And sometimes it’s watching your child get caught in a conflict you desperately tried to remove them from.
That’s also when I learned the limitations of a divorce decree.
I used to think there was something reassuring about having everything in writing. There are orders. There are rules. There are procedures for enforcing those rules. If something isn’t working, there are modifications.
But a court order is not a conscience.
It can tell someone what they’re required to do. It can’t make them care about why they should do it. It can’t create good judgment, cooperation, empathy, or a willingness to see how adult choices affect a child.
And that realization changed the way I think about divorce itself.
People talk about divorce as though you’re choosing between an unhappy life and a happier one. The grass is greener on the other side.
I don’t think that’s true.
Sometimes the grass is just different.
Divorce solves some problems and creates entirely new ones. If you have children, some of those new problems can follow you for years. There are things you lose that you don’t get back simply because leaving was the right decision.
That’s why, after everything I’ve experienced, I still don’t “believe” in divorce as the answer to an unhappy season, resentment, boredom, or the belief that something better must be waiting somewhere else.
But I also believe there are exceptions.
There are circumstances where you’ve tried, waited, hoped, prayed, changed, forgiven, and tried again, and eventually have to accept that preserving the marriage “for the children” may no longer be the healthiest choice for them.
Mine became one of those exceptions.
I can believe that ending my marriage was necessary and still wish it hadn’t been necessary. I can know I made the right decision and acknowledge everything that decision cost.
Two contradictory things can be true at the same time.
Maybe that’s the first thing divorce taught me.
Sometimes the right decision can still be one you wish you’d never had to make.
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