Category: Doing Divorce

“Angela? Party of Four.”  We waited patiently on the bench in the Chicago airport for our table at the crowded eatery during our layover to a short weekend vacation.  We watched and waited for the other Angela to get her table.  “Angela? Party of Four!”  The server tried again, annoyance seeping into her voice.  My eldest daughter said, “Mom I think she means us.”  I stood up and tentatively approached the counter, my two daughters behind me.  “I am Angela, but there are only three of us.”  “Follow me,” the server replied, setting down the extra menu and extra napkin

This week Angela was heartbroken by the news she lost a client to suicide. She again shares this message about depression and seeking help. The morning my divorce decree would be signed, I lay in bed on a tear-soaked pillow feeling like I could stay there the rest of my life.  That dull morning, I could have sworn three hundred pounds of weight was stacked on top of me. It felt gray and sad and shameful to get divorced.  The light in my eye was snuffed out and had been for some time.  For the last year, leading up to

“Are you planning on getting Sophia’s birthday cupcakes for her class tomorrow?” I asked.  “Well, it wasn’t on my radar,” he replied.  Due to a schedule change my daughter’s dad would now have her the night before her birthday and also the night class treats would need to be prepared or purchased. I pushed forward.  “Not on your radar because you forgot, because you think she is too old, or because you want me to do it?”  “I guess I can do it if she wants them.  I guess.”  He replied.  Annoyance pricked at my tense shoulders.  I was about

September. So many of my greatest joy of my rich life were delivered to me in September. The birth of my first child. My admission to the bar.  My memorable annual fall weekends with women friends. The unexpected, unforgettable kiss that left me dazed. September also brought me my darkest hour–my husband’s quiet death as I slept beside him. Six years after my most sorrowful September, the month of September still ushers in my favorite season. The colors of the earth bring the warmth that my heart longs for. The crispy coolness incites the back to school urge to launch

“I’ve got it!”  I thought smugly to myself.  The perfect birthday gift for my soon-to-be eleven year old had finally lit the light bulb in my brain.  I would make her a How To Be A Tween box.  It would be filled with practical items, some fun things, and best of all – a year-in-review photo book from her 10th year.  Brilliant, I thought, mentally hugging myself. My Sophia very much enjoys the spotlight and a photo book highlighting her would be a welcome and appreciated gift.  I excitedly started downloading pictures to Shutterfly starting with last September.  I designed

I was confident I would not cry.  My sister mildly bragged the week prior that she didn’t shed a tear with her oldest starting kindergarten and her youngest starting preschool.  As the older sister, I knew I could match that. Then this happened.  I snapped this picture of my daughters on the school steps and seeing my youngest in her new middle school uniform started that familiar form of a lump settling into my throat.  This day marked the 10th first day of school for which I have braced myself.  From preschool now to 8th grade for my eldest daughter,

I still feel embarrassed by a mistake I made a few years ago today. It was “Meet the Teachers” night at school.  When my former spouse asked about his new wife coming, I retorted that I did not think it appropriate. In my view, Meet the Teachers night was for parents and their children to meet the teachers. Not for step-parents to also meet the teachers and be included in this family event. I was wrong. At that time, two years into my daughters having a step-mom, I was still working through what that meant.  Nothing put me in the

I laughed out loud more than once while Sasha opened gifts at her baby shower.  “Thank goodness you gave a toy, otherwise the baby would only have boxes to play in!”  “Will this baby nighttime sound machine drown out the crying?”  “Will I get to wear sleep sacs to bed, too?”  I sensed her funny acknowledgments serving to mask her mounting anxiety about the birth date fast approaching. For this soon-to-be first time mom, each and every bow untied brought her closer to the realization that her baby would soon be here.  The enormity of how her life was about

I get nervous just thinking about it – all of my co-workers rating me in all areas of my professional performance.  Do I keep my promises?  Do I approach my work with enthusiasm?  Do I listen without interrupting? Every year I must remind myself why I actively choose to put myself through a performance review. Founded on the principle “look, see, tell the truth, take authentic action,” our firm coach, Susan, teaches us that to move toward growth and betterment these four steps are key.  Performance reviews help us pause to look.  Our co-workers and supervisors help us see and

He is free-spirited.  He is spontaneous.  He doesn’t use his calendar to track activities.  He lives his life with confidence that the next step forward will take him where he needs to be – wherever that may be.  His thoughts are mostly the after kind. She is organized.  She is predictable.  She is meticulous in her planning and preparation. Her life is well-managed in all its details.  She has already started filling out her 2018 planner along with an outline of goals. You know the story – opposites attract.  They fall in love.  Wed.  Then divorce.  Now they find themselves