Am I pro-divorce? Not necessarily. But I’m entirely against the idea that anyone should have to live in fear or pain because of his or her spouse. Life is too short, people! Everyone deserves to feel safe in their own home.

Divorce is not just for “dumb” people or the mentally ill. That is absurd. Is divorce rough on children? Absolutely. But what children need is to learn how to relate to other people in a healthy way, and that is not always possible while living under the same roof as both Mom and Dad, especially if they are beating on each other.

The author of this post received a surprising number of supportive comments from those who agree that more couples need to suck it up rather than get divorced. Maybe more divorces could be avoided, but it’s a deeply personal decision that I don’t think anyone takes lightly. It’s impossible to know the precise dynamics involved in any marriage but your own, so criticizing anyone else’s decision to divorce is nothing short of ludicrous.

*****

Hannah was the winner of the Unorthodox giveaway. Thanks to everyone for your thoughtful comments.

I Want to Know

What do you think? Do more people need to “suck it up?” Are there times when it’s in the kids’ best interest for their parents to divorce?

Would you like to tell your separation or divorce story? Divorced Before 30 takes submissions! Visit me at my other blog, emmasota or find me on twitter @emmasota. And, if you haven’t already, please connect with Divorced Before 30 on Facebook!

So. I showed up at the county courthouse that afternoon ready to dissolve my marriage. I arrived several minutes early to meet my attorney, the kind soul who charged 75 bucks an hour to answer my e-mails and phone calls. Rounding up to the nearest 15-minute interval, naturally. There was a crowd mulling around outside the courtroom, and everyone looked equally wary of the big wooden doors that stood between us and the judge.

It suddenly hit me that roughly twenty of us were all getting divorced at 1:00. I had expected a private session with the justice system—a judicial tête-à-tête—and instead, I was going to be part of a mass decoupling. The judge would knock off a dozen marriages in the span of one hour. It was heartening to see local government operating so efficiently.

Now, I’ve seen hundreds, maybe thousands, of weddings in my lifetime, and I’m sure you have, too. Any self-respecting romantic comedy marches two young fools down the aisle before the credits roll. Ah-hem. Excuse me. That was bitter-dissolution-voice rearing its cynical but somewhat accurate head. The point is, between the media and real life, you and I have seen enough weddings to be able mumble at least 90% of the traditional ceremony. Extra points for channeling the priest from The Princess Bride.

But, have you ever seen a divorce proceeding? Prior to this fateful day, I had not. And I can tell you that it’s decidedly different than a wedding. There was no processional, no lovely shoes, no tightly wound bouquets. In fact, there wasn’t a groom. Since our divorce was “uncontested,” John wasn’t required to appear in court, so I was on my own, but certainly in good company with the army of strangers getting unhitched.

Within an hour of walking into the courtroom, I had witnessed at least ten divorces, including my own. I gave my testimony, a gavel proclaimed it so, and I walked out with signed papers. I was entirely disillusioned with the process, but I had the two things I had come back to reclaim (besides my favorite jeans): My last name and my life. Reason enough, in my opinion, to eat cake.

Julie, Jodi, and their five-month-old son, Reuben, lived in a gorgeous “green” home that they built using straw bale construction. It was full of repurposed materials and personal touches, including kitchen counters made from chalkboard slate they salvaged from an old schoolhouse. The stuccoed walls were stained with earthy shades of matte clay paint, and the quiet room I stayed in was a deep red that was counterintuitively calming. With its wide open spaces and accents of marvelous wood, the home—much like its owners—emanated warmth and character.

On Sunday night, I sat and talked to Julie and Jodi about the last few months of my marriage. I had largely kept quiet while in the fray, as opening up would’ve meant admitting to myself how bad things had gotten. So I recounted bits and pieces of the hellish summer, my escape to Minnesota, and the divorce process. Julie and Jodi were curious about all my name-changing, and I explained that it was relatively easy, since it’s built into the marriage and divorce documents.

Before they had Reuben, the two of them decided to create their own family name—rather than choose between their names or hyphenate, they crafted an original name out of words that had significance for them. It was shocking to hear how much it cost to have their names legally changed. It hadn’t cost me anything—beyond the fairly modest cost of a marriage license—for the “privilege” of adding John’s last name to mine.

In my humble opinion, U.S. marriage law could use some work. The legal aspects of marriage should be entirely separate from the (many, wonderful, diverse) religious traditions associated with marriage. I got married in a church, and guess what?—the pastor didn’t officiate, or even attend, my divorce, and the church didn’t offer to help me work through the end of the union. How was I supposed to reconcile my “I do” with what I was about to do, which was go to the courthouse and take it back?

Technically, the legal and religious aspects of marriage are quite separate, but people don’t seem to get that. If your church doesn’t want to marry certain people, well, that’s just fine with me. But your courthouse should provide equal access to the legal contract. All adults should have the same opportunity to enter into what might become a phenomenal marriage, a complete nightmare, or some middling form of coexistence. All couples should have the same shot at making it to their “golden anniversary” party—to eat cake, surrounded by their progeny, in a house full of memories. Matching cardigan sweaters optional.

Maybe this is a radical idea, but I also think it should be a tiny bit harder to get married and a great deal easier to get divorced. Currently, it takes a hell of a lot more time, money, and paperwork to get divorced than it does to get married. Sure, weddings are ridiculously expensive. But you don’t have to throw a lavish party to get legally married. The current laws make it easy for a man and woman to get hitched quickly (Vegas, baby!) and painfully difficult for people who can’t afford a divorce attorney to free themselves from what are sometimes terrible situations.

Can I get an “AMEN!?” At the very least, I hope I can get an “I’m trying to understand where you’re coming from, sister,” because life is more rich when we attempt to see things from another perspective.

After the heavy conversations with Julie and Jodi, I went to bed with an equally heavy heart and a self-help book. (Believe it or not, someone actually wrote Chicken Soup for the Divorced Soul. But that’s an aside, and it’s not the book I read.) Sometimes, when life feels impossibly confusing, it’s reassuring to wander around a bookstore in search of written respite. So with my latest find in hand, I snuggled into the soft bed in Julie and Jodi’s red room and read and prayed and cried and slept. In that order.