"You're a piece of shit. I should never have married you."

A week after those words were spoken to me, I told my husband I was divorcing him. You might find the dark history that led to this fateful moment interesting, but I'll save that for another day, as this little excerpt in my life begins here.

Within a month, my divorce was final. It was as cut and dry as one could hope - no children, no battle, and no confusion about our relationship. I had made it clear I was never coming back, and he knew I meant it this time.

Divorce. What a repulsive little word. It means something different to everyone, but you can barely say it without casting some judgment on the players who entangle themselves in it's game. "What did he do?" "Who cheated on whom?" "She was always so mean to him." "I knew they were too young when they got married." The blaming is truly endless, and no one surfaces unscathed once the word begins to spread.

I wasn't prepared for what my divorce would entail. I wasn't prepared for the emotional toll it would take on me. I wasn't prepared to explain what had happened every time someone asked about my husband. I wasn't prepared for the loss of so many people with whom I had once been close. I wasn't prepared to part with my beloved extra family. I wasn't prepared for any aspect of what came next, no matter how much I pretended I was okay, and I certainly wasn't prepared to stare my own demons in the face and rebuild myself from the broken, bitter shell of a human being I had become.

When I finally put pen to paper, it wasn't to share my story. It wasn't to validate my righteousness and shame the man whom I had once vowed to love until death do us part. I needed to feel what had happened to me. I needed to feel something, anything, other than the angry undercurrent that threatened to take hold of me eternally. I wanted to feel sad, even disappointed, and I wanted to understand why this had happened to me. I needed to face the reality of my decisions, and I needed to find a way to forgive myself for giving so much of my soul to someone who had never truly loved me.

I began writing about how my divorce impacted my life and I shared my writing with the people around me. People who were close to me and people I didn't know all that well began reaching out to share their stories in return. I was mesmerized by the way people identified with my words, and I realized that I needed to share my experience for myself, but also for those who couldn't put their experience into words.

Writing became the outlet that allowed me to candidly share my emotional experience and it connected me to others who had similarly suffered. It became the greatest blessing in my healing process and it continues to provide a healthy outlet in which I can process and understand what has happened in my life.

The human experience is about connection - within yourself and with those who surround you. Writing has become the greatest gift of connection in my life and I am eternally grateful that it called to me in my darkest moment.

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