(Welcome to a break in our regularly scheduled programming. I just realized that this post is due today - because I have forgotten all of my organization skills - so while it does involve a confession of sorts, it doesn't exactly continue the story of how I became Mrs. Hot Guy. That will continue next week. Unless I've forgotten something else. Sorry.)
So one of the other pleasures of writing for the SVMoms Group is that there's a book club. If you're in the book club, you can sign up to read and write about new books. Last month I signed up for a particular book. I didn't sign up for another book, because I thought it would upset me.
Look, I used to read deeply intellectual books for pleasure. I used to read searing stories of pain and loss, of history, of life. Then I started teaching in a neighborhood where there was already a lot of pain and loss. My book choices turned quickly to mysteries and chick lit. Which is where they remain, because if I am reading to relax I don't want to get confused or upset. Sue me.
Of course, I also got the book that I thought would upset me. But I felt compelled to read it, because taking it was like a promise. And so I stuffed "I Am Nujood, Aged 10 and Divorced" into my purse.
I got divorced at 27 - it seems like a lifetime ago now. I had gotten engaged at 21 (after a month), married at 23. . . I know some people who married that young, or even younger, and are still happy. I think it's fantastic that they made such smart decisions at such young ages. I, however, was not smart at that age. Or in any way mature enough to choose well. I chose poorly and suffered for it. And still it was hard to leave.
I had a career, parents and friends who were more than supportive of my decision, and still I had moments of doubt. I didn't know anyone who was my age and divorced.
As I read the words of a 10 year old, with little education, who was violated and abused by the sadistic beast of a husband who'd chosen her, I teared up. Our situations were nothing alike, of course, but when she talked about the relief she felt when it was over , I remembered my first day in my first solo apartment. Choosing pictures I loved for the walls, knowing I'd never again have to look at his "art" (collages of magazine cut-outs of naked models - I wonder what his current art history students would think of them?). Knowing that no one was there to complain about what I ate, what I read, what I watched, what I said and what I wore. Feeling relieved.
Divorce has such negative connotations, even in our divorce-friendly country. We feel sorry for people when they get divorced. And I'm sure there are plenty of divorced people who deserve our sympathy. But I think the rest of us deserve a party grander than our weddings.
