On December 4, 2017, shattered, depleted, and afraid, I filed custody and support petitions in Chesapeake Juvenile Domestic Relations Court. Though I knew they were necessary, I signed them reluctantly and with hope still in my heart for the restoration of our marriage. That hope faded over the coming months as our marital home became an increasingly unsafe space for me. 

Our marriage counselor implored me to “make a safe and sane home for [my]self and [my] children,” and with the support of my family and a handful of friends-who-feel-like-family, I did that. If anyone had tried to tell me what the next few years would bring, I would not have believed them. The journey from that day to April 25, 2023—my divorce finalization day—has been both the darkest and brightest of my life. The story of these past five years, filled with delays and shenanigans, rivals the script of the most absurd soap opera. That is a story for another day. Today’s story is one of celebration.

I used to say that the failure of my marriage was the greatest tragedy of my life. I no longer believe that. Though I made an abundance of mistakes, dating all the way back to the age of fifteen, I would do it all again—even if the outcome was the same—because without that exact marriage, I would not have the family I have today. And though outsiders may view my family as broken, I see it as mended and more beautiful today than I could have imagined. The tragedy was not the mistakes that led to the marriage, its long but toxic life, or its ultimate demise but that I completely lost myself in the process. During these waiting years, I have grieved, healed, rediscovered myself, and learned what love really is. Through it all, I was carried, protected, defended, and put back together by a God I know to be utterly faithful and trustworthy.

Though I reclaimed my name at the point I realized my marriage was beyond hope of restoration, finalizing the divorce closes the circle and completes the journey of my marriage. In his book Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Community, Pádraig Ó Tuama shared a “Prayer for a new name,” a beautiful reflection of the story of Hagar, the discarded servant who God found in her wilderness exile. She named him El-Roi, “the God who sees me.” In his prayer, Pádraig Ó Tuama wrote:

We have walked far,
and seen many things
and now,
because of what we have seen
because of where we are going
because of where we are
we give this new name now.
We do not destroy past names,
because they have brought us here.
We celebrate the new name
That will bring us on. (p. 49)

I do not celebrate my divorce, no matter how necessary it was for my survival and is for my closure, because at its root, a divorce represents the fracture of a covenant and in my case, of a family. I do not wish to destroy the memory of the marriage—even its darkest parts—because it brought me here. Instead, I choose to celebrate my journey through and out of the marriage. Those thirty years constitute what (I hope) will be at least a third of my life and cannot be separated from who I am today and will be in the future. I celebrate my survival and the ways God is putting me back together, keeping the pieces He intended and discarding the ones others imposed on me or that I acquired through my own mistakes.

I celebrate the lessons I learned these past five years—some once known but forgotten, others altogether new discoveries. I now know that I am more than a possession. I know that truth emerges in time. I realize that it is far more important to notice what people do than to believe what they say or what they say that they do. I have learned that letting my life speak is much more powerful than any verbal defense I could offer. I know that having gifts and dreams is not narcissistic but that devaluing or belittling the gifts and dreams of others may be. I know that I can change, and that it is best to walk away from a relationship with anyone who believes otherwise. I have accepted that sometimes it is more important to be saved from a marriage than for that marriage to be saved. I have learned to make every effort to avoid bitterness. I have learned that both grief and forgiveness are necessary but ongoing processes. I have learned that my purpose can be found internally—in what makes my heart sing and what breaks it—and in the exact life God gave me, not in someone or something external and elusive. And I have learned that God requires love above all else—love of Him, love of others, and by extension, love of self—a lesson I have chosen to have symbolically etched above my right ankle as a personal Ebenezer stone.

I also celebrate the people who surrounded, supported, and accepted me through all the stages of the journey—the friends and family who remained when others walked away and those temporarily blinded who returned with open eyes. I am grateful for the new friends who stepped into the mess and joined the reconstructive work. I am indebted to the counselors, pastors, and spiritual director who guided me through grief and into forgiveness and gave me tools with which to rediscover myself. Finally, I celebrate the selfless, honorable, pastoral man and his wife who sacrificed so much time and energy to advocate for justice on behalf of me and the children—a justice that is tragically elusive for most women whose life choices leave them as powerless as mine did. None of these people are named in this space, but I will always remember their names, the wisdom they shared, and how God provided for me through them.

Over time, I will share my story more fully and deeply in whatever ways God prompts and allows. I will also advocate for and encourage others who find themselves in situations like mine because that is how we make sense of our senseless stories. In the meantime, I celebrate closing the circle of my marriage—a marriage that produced the eight children that have been, and will always be, my greatest gifts and a picture of redemption to me; a marriage that revealed to me an utterly trustworthy God who fights on my behalf even when I do not understand His ways or His timing; and a marriage in which I made countless mistakes that left me shattered into pieces but that also allowed me to be remade into someone who is better for the breaking and the mending. And now that that circle is closed and celebrated, I step eagerly into new seasons, bursting with song and ready to dance!

“You did it: you changed wild lament
    into whirling dance;
You ripped off my black mourning band
    and decked me with wildflowers.
I’m about to burst with song;
    I can’t keep quiet about you.
God, my God,
    I can’t thank you enough.” (Psalm 30:11-12, The Message)