I realise upon writing this blog post, that the title might come as a shock to some of my close friends and some family members- that’s mainly because it’s been one of the biggest secrets I have held on to in my life. I wish I could say it wasn’t a highly kept secret or that it simply didn’t come up in conversations, but the fact of the matter is- I was ashamed. Of all the milestones in my life- I felt like this was my biggest failure. Let me explain why…
I could start off by stating that I didn’t run off and pull a Britney by marrying the very first person I met or a dude I knew in the past, but that would come off like a judgement. I was eighteen, rebellious (tame, but still rebellious) and looking to defy anything my mother told me not to do. I was in a relationship with someone 9-10 years older than me- I felt like many things were falling into place. We were moving in together, I was working and in school and having dinners and trips in and around Montreal, I felt like the shizzle. You can insert the eye roll here, if not- I’ll do it for you…🙄 I was very much in love with him and very much in love with the idea of “playing house” with him. So, on a whim, he asked me to marry him, I accepted and because I am allergic to planning major events, we decided to simply get married at the courthouse. At this point, I hope my mother isn’t reading, because this is where a little part of her will die. Sticking to my theme of being a rebel and not caring about meeting and matching the norm, I wore a black dress, with white polka dots, a red rose in my hair and lots of cleavage. For all intents and purposes, it was a great day in my life, because I was totally infatuated with him and with our lives, I didn’t see the cracks. Call it maturity, love blindness or plain old stupid decisions, I’ll raise my hand 🙋to all of the above.

In the years that followed after our relationship ended, I felt an intense sense of failure, especially amongst my peers, after all, how many divorced 19-year-olds did you know? So, I made a mental pact with myself to not bring him up in terms of being my ex-husband, I merely downgraded him to an ex-boyfriend. I know what you might be thinking, I’m sure your friends wouldn’t have judged you and would love you just the same. Which is probably very true, but I had one too many experiences where I mentioned it and was met with a horrified gasp. This nipped my openness in the bud very, very quickly. About a month ago, I was met with the same shock and judgement, but this time around it held no power over me. I silently praised myself for simply saying well that’s your opinion and not mine, but their shock did not come with judgement, it came with a sense of impowerment, because I let go of something that was not good for me. 10 years ago, I would have writhed in embarrassment, but at 33, I realise that it was a bad decision, but it doesn’t change who I am, it doesn’t make me a bad person and all in all- it is merely a part of my story. Allowing myself to be shamed or feel small for marrying and ultimately divorcing someone only allows him to have an effect on my life when let’s face it- he’s not even on the fringes of my thoughts. The funny thing is, the moment I decided to tell my best friend my biggest secret, was the moment I felt the hold my shame had on me begin to dissolve. She may never know just how deep her acceptance of me resonated. For whatever reason, I had let this become a thing, something I tucked so far behind in my memory, but yet still so impactful in my daily life. The moment, I accepted that being a divorcee didn’t flaw my character I was then able to release its hold on me.

Share with us on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook or email.