Five years, one month and one day ago I became someone’s wife. At the time we entered into that spiritual and legal contract that bound our hearts and souls together, we didn’t understand the full scope of what we were doing.

Like many brides-to-be, I planned a wedding, not a marriage. I bought an expensive dress and made favors. I chose flowers and colors and a location. I carefully chose the wording for our invitations, printed them and mailed them off. I registered for plenty of gifts. I counted down the days, packed boxes, finished up my last semester at community college and discovered two lines on a pregnancy test. Somewhere in the process of getting engaged and having a baby and getting married, we lost what was really important. And we never really found it.

It’s true that we never had a fairy tale relationship. Or maybe it was a fairy tale in the scope that it wasn’t a real relationship. It did not represent reality, the real world, but rather a nightmare of a union that should have ended long before it ever began.

Two years and nine months ago, that nightmare became even more of a gruesome reality. I would be lying if I said I didn’t see it coming, because I always did and always could. He left dramatically after an argument, one that is and was petty and one that I would have forgotten had it not meant the end of our marriage. I didn’t know that that was the moment in which it would all end, but if I had, I would have lingered at the door a little longer, begged him a little more to stay. I thought he’d go away and come back.

But he didn’t. And suddenly I was alone with two small children with another on the way.

My memories sometimes remind me of a time warp – it seems like yesterday, like there is no possible way that nearly three years have gone by since we lived together as husband and wife, but at the same time it seems like so long ago. I was a different person then; I had no self-respect and no self-esteem. I was hopelessly devoted to him and so hopelessly seeking his attention that I put up with being disrespected. I believed him when he said that no one would love me. I believed every word he said and let him tear down my self-worth with every insult tossed my way, every glass he threw, every plate he broke and every time he pushed me over an end table or out of a chair.

But that girl, that girl that didn’t believe in herself enough to get out, is gone.

I didn’t want to get divorced. I didn’t want out of the relationship. In my heart of hearts I knew we had not tried hard enough. I knew we had not been honest enough with each other. I knew that I had not given this marriage my best effort. I knew that there were things I could have and should have changed, but I didn’t believe it would make a difference. Neither did he, apparently. Because he did want to get divorced. He did want out of the relationship. And he did believe that we’d tried hard enough, and that it just wouldn’t be enough.

Two years and four months ago, when I was 36 weeks pregnant with the now two-year-old calling me “Echo” from the other couch, the kids and I moved away. We left South Carolina, left him and left our old lives behind. Our whole world changed.

I didn’t want to move, if I can be at all honest. I wanted to be there just in case he changed his mind, just in case he wanted to see his children more often. I was – and am – stubborn. I wanted to do it myself, to get a job and raise my children without outside help. But I just couldn’t do it. I fought the move kicking and screaming, but thankfully my family was there to drag me to Tipton County.

Back in those days I often said, “But if I do that, HE WINS!” It was all about keeping score, and he always won in my book. Of course I heard, “No, really, he’s LOSING …” but I didn’t want to hear that. He was getting what he wanted. He wanted out of the relationship. He wanted to be single. He wanted to act like a single man without a family. He got all of that. He won.

When we were married on that dock more than five years ago, peacocks squawked as we were announced husband and wife. I know I heard those peacocks again this morning as a chancery court judge absolved our union, completely and absolutely.

A year ago, I couldn’t understand the excitement surrounding a divorce, but today I understood.

This divorce was too many years and too many tears in the making. On the walk up to the courthouse, a building I visit several times each week for cases in which I am neither the plaintiff nor the defendant, I was willing myself not to cry in the courtroom, in front of other husbands and wives who’d decided to end their marriages, too. There was no need, I told myself. I have fought fair and dignified; I did not stoop to embarrassing lows or seek revenge. And I am proud of myself. I have rebuilt my life, amazingly, and I am happier than ever. These are not reasons to cry.

But I did cry this afternoon. The weight of it all. The enormity of the situation. The length of time it’s taken to get to that podium, that witness stand, to hear that I was being granted an absolute divorce when he had fought it.

I’d finally won.

Winning means closing this nine-year chapter in my life, ending the “Starting Over” category on this blog and continuing to move forward.

Thirteen hours ago I became someone’s ex-wife. There were no dresses, favors or flowers to choose. No invitations to print. No gift registries to complete. (And no pregnancy tests, either, by the way!) But I planned for this. I counted down the days. I understood the full scope of what I was doing. My dad walked me down the aisle five years ago, and he was there today to walk me back the other way.

Borrowing from Ol’ Blue Eyes:
I faced it all and I stood tall;
And did it my way.

It’s been a long time coming, but I did it. I really did it. I’m finally divorced. And I couldn’t be happier.

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