Divorcing With Sanity

"The night is the hardest time to be alive, and 4am knows all my secrets." - Poppy Z. Brite During my post-divorce depression, I used to love the silence of the night. I became unsure if I was sleeping at 6am because I truly had insomnia, or simply because 4am was the only time I felt safe enough to be myself. I would stand at my window, talk to the tree outside, and listen to the whispers of the stars. When the sun began to rise, a cold, sinking feeling would overcome me. I dreaded the thought of the world waking up and becoming alive, because their aliveness made me feel dead. I didn't want light, because it made everything too clear and forced me to confront things I wasn't ready to face. I didn't want to hear other people talking, because I didn't want to have to respond. I didn't want to see people shuffling their way to work, because I had lost mine and it made me sad. Daybreak meant I had to make a series of decisions before I could walk out of my ...

It's 2am, and you're going over divorce lawyer emails and custody schedules in your head. Bills are piled on your desk. Your ex just sent another text about who's picking up the kids. And then, out of nowhere, this thought sneaks in: “What if I could fall in love again?” Almost immediately, the shame hits, fast and hard. The Fairy Tale You're Too Old For You're a grown woman, a mother and a professional educator. You have stretch marks, a teenage daughter and parent-teacher conferences to prepare for. Yet, last week, you found yourself watching that rom-com you watched when you were a teenager. Sam on the radio, talking about his late wife with such quiet love that Annie pulls over her car and weeps listening to a stranger; and that iconic Empire State Building ending! Where Sam and Annie finally meet - no raunchy, cheesy kisses. He simply offers her his hand. So serendipitous, so pure, so romantic. You were giving yourself permission to imagine, just for a little w...

  It's Mother's Day tomorrow in Singapore. You have been making cards with your students all week, encouraging them to honour their mums and smiling brightly when they proudly show you their creations. There are little surges of tears and pain that threaten to surface, but you fight them with these thoughts. "I may have made a mess of my own family but I cannot and must not project this unhappiness onto their perfect little lives." "Their mums are great. Their mums are fantastic. They must be beautiful, lovable beings who did everything right. Unlike me." You snap yourself out of your thoughts and force yourself to be present in this happy, meaningful learning moment for your students. "They're going to have a perfect Mother's Day. What kind of Mother's Day have I given my own kids?" You mentally slap yourself back to the present again - and this time, your tears are sitting right at the edge of your waterline. What you are carrying rig...