In the state I reside within, a full year of separation is required in order for the court to grant divorce. A pleasant idea, with the conservative ideals to keep families intact and whatnot; however, my ex-husband decided long before I was even aware, on his own accord, that our marriage was over. So by the time I found out, let him continue to stew on the matter “to be 100% sure” he was making the right decision while continuing to court his not-really-an-affair-but-sorta-his-girlfriend-yeah-it-was-textbook-emotional-infidelity “coworker friend” … let’s just say I was forced to begin to process the notion that I was getting divorced quite suddenly, with a bluntness not permitting any room for “false hope” as the ex so eloquently put it.
By the time the actual full year rolled around, I felt as though I had weathered a handful of years, and a reason for celebration, albeit something that caused me anguish and turmoil, was still met with giddy reception.
I like being with friends. I like drinking. I like being girlish and ultra feminine. I enjoy social shenanigans amid the comfort of close pals. A divorce party was the perfect way to end the most awful year I’d yet endured.
My girl friends enjoyed the idea as well. Everyone’s so tired of bachelorettes, and this is practically the antithesis to all that schmucky bridal crap! Let’s get “Just Divorced” signs! Let’s put up “Ring for Sale” posters! Everything will be pink and feathery and obnoxious.
We booked a suite at the Ritz Carlton and planned an evening of debauchery at a deuling piano bar. I made it a point to dress differently – flowy black top, skinny jeans, and a new look with tightly curled hair. I suppose the idea was to look like a new person, and maybe I’d feel like one too.
It was a fun night, but I truly couldn’t down the free red bull & vodkas that management was providing free of charge to the “newly divorced girl” fast enough to temper the bit of shame I felt about celebrating something I was embarrassed and saddened by. Yes, I caught the bastard cheating. Yes, I was dumped in one of the most horrid manners you can imagine. But I wasn’t sure if I would ever fall out of love with him, or if I would ever forgive myself for somehow failing to provide the family I wanted for my son.
There were tiny cocktail shooters. There was dancing. There were “you look too young to be divorced” and “can’t believe he let you go” comments. There were awkward moments with an adjacent bachelorette party, celebrating a young girl’s pending nuptials.
I had very mixed feelings about the event, but I’m glad I did it. It was one marginally bright spot punctuating a year of emotional chaos.