Category: Doing Divorce

I walked into the courthouse thinking about the thousands of times I have walked these halls over the last 25 years. The quiet reverence in the courthouse could confuse you for thinking you were in a library or a bank, except for the always visible police officers on duty. Suited-up lawyers talking in hushed soothing tones while their nervous clients populate the wood benches along the corridors outside the courtrooms. I glance up toward my favorite part of the courthouse – the ceiling of the rotunda with the comforting view of golden pink illustrations of eight murals revealing the history

We all play the parts perfectly.  Oscar-worthy really.  My daughters (13 and 11) shuffle around the house excitedly until he is found.  They call out for me and I come either blinky-eyed on the weekend mornings or fairly distracted weekday morning while I finish slipping in my earrings.  “Max came” they will cry out.  “What? Where is he?  What did he do last night?”  And repeat until Christmas Day. Max the Elf is at mom’s house.  Chippy, recently more grown up and now called Charles, is at dad’s house.  Max is loving.  Chippy is mischievous.  Max thoughtfully brings little Christmas

My Christmas tree died a week before Christmas.  The branches were weighed down to the floor in a giant 8-foot droop. The star on top tilted to the left along with the sagging sapless branches. I should have known it was a sign.  I should have known it would contribute to the sadness that would settle down over my usually happy holiday home. My daughters left my home the morning of December 19th and didn’t return until the late evening of December 26th.  It was my first attempt in 14 years at not being with my children on either December

It was so much harder than I expected. I had successfully navigated the Christmas holidays all seven years prior as a divorced parent with my two young daughters.  Now, in my 8th year as a divorced parent, the Christmas season was upon us.  Their dad made a request to take the girls away for both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.  I cannot explain my response in any other way than I thought it was the right thing to do.  I said yes. Their stepmother’s father had passed earlier in the year.  As the first holiday season approached after his passing,

“I have a black eye.” “He was raging at me.” “He threw me up against the bathroom door with his hands around my throat and another hand over my mouth.” “He pushed me over our kitchen counter, holding his hands over my mouth and throat.” “I was in my car trying to leave and he came out and dragged me out of it and threw my things all over the street.” “My dad came trying to help me. He punched my dad. He has multiple bruises and possibly a broken nose.” I can’t show you a picture of our client

Kirsten’s life tragically ended in violence.  I continue this series by looking at another, and all too common, form of domestic abuse. It seemed reasonable in the beginning – supportive even. He said he would handle the finances once they moved in together.  He earned a bit more than her so she trusted that he would be fiscally responsible. When they joined households, they also joined finances. She provided all of her accounts, passwords, and trust. “Why did you spend $123 at Target?” he demanded to know.  She recited her purchases confused over his anger. “You need to follow the