Rethinking Love, Life, Divorce, and What Makes a Happy Family.
In 2009, I wrote an essay for Slate’s Double X site about my “surprise” planned pregnancy, which came about shortly after I got engaged. Six years later, I wrote the bookend piece about the end of my marriage, which ran in the New York Times Modern Love column. The column became an episode of the Modern Love podcast, with the actress Molly Ringwald reading the essay followed by an interview with me. Since then, my essays on co-sleeping and divorce as an act of self love have also been published in The New York Times, and my newfound love of dogs and pillow fights in the age of COVID have been published in The Washington Post.
In the first essay, I was struggling with how to make a family. In the second essay, I was struggling how to remake that family—which now included a second child—after the pain and trauma of divorce.
Since then, I have continued to meditate on how to have a “good divorce,” how to exist in the world as a “part-time mom” with a full-time job and long-term career ambitions, and the outside-the-box parenting methods I have turned to as a single parent.
I used to believe that divorce is a terrible thing, particularly when children are involved. Growing up, I absorbed cultural tropes about absent fathers in efficiency apartments, mothers struggling to support themselves, and awful stepparents and unwanted stepsiblings. To this day, divorce is portrayed as precarious and grim. Parents whose marriages break apart are made to feel they have failed catastrophically. Divorce is shameful, traumatic and Bad For The Kids.
So what if he chews the furniture and shreds my papers. He opened up our locked-down world.
Ours last 15 minutes, and it’s a daily way to let go of fear, frustration and sadness as we shelter in place
I love them beyond all reason. But sometimes my clients need me more.
“Mom, can we talk about ‘Game of Thrones’?” my 4-year-old daughter asks at the dinner table, looking up at me hopefully. My 6-year-old son nods vigorously.
There’s a saying that if pregnancy were a book, they would cut the last two chapters. But how would the story begin? Whether planned or unplanned, I think it’s fair to say that the realization of every pregnancy starts with a sense of shock and awe.