Monday, July 27, 2015

Divorce: Cross Your Bridge, But Don't Burn It

Well, I'm sure you've noticed it's been quite a while since I've  posted on my blog and I have a very good excuse, it's called a job. I don't know who came up with this concept, but they sure didn't have a sense of humor. Believe it or not, when you have a job, you usually have something called a boss. And this "boss" expects you to be at work, like every day at the same time?WHAT? Also, they do not get that you need to come in late on Monday because you haven't quite finished binge watching OITNB Season 3. They also do not see a 2 for 1 Happy Hour from 5-7 at The Oyster Bar, a reason to leave early. So as you can see, my blogging time has been cut tremendously.  Especially now that I have discovered The Masters Of Sex on showtime. Isn't Bill so creepy? Ew.

Anyway, it came to my attention that this past Monday was the 4 year anniversary of my divorce. Four years ago Monday, Ex and I came together in the judge's chambers, held hands and cried as we were each given a copy of our final divorce decree, before heading our separate ways and forging new lives.  His new life seems to involve lots of travel to amazing places, while mine involves traveling  to Nordstrom Rack in Sarasota every other month, (They have Spanx now!)  but the point is we've moved on, and we are both happy.

I hardly ever write about divorce anymore. When I started this blog, it defined me. That's how I saw myself, DIVORCED first, mom second, alone, alone alone. Obviously that changed, and M and I have been in a committed relationship for years now, and I am happy as I've ever been. But I recently had an experience that proved to me, that though our marriage is over, our bond will never be broken, because of four little things I like to call... our children.

Several weeks ago I was at that job thing, and I went into a meeting and left my phone on my desk because, I didn't want to be disturbed by Netflix telling me that season 5 of Downton Abbey was now available, especially since I had already paid the 19.99 to Amazon so that I could watch it. So I went into my meeting, which if I recall was about google analytics, which I can sum up in two words.."Um...WHAT?" Anyhooo, I go back to my desk and see I have missed four calls from EX. This means that either he just discovered that I still have access to that old vacation fund we started in 1998, which now has 113.47 in it, or something horrible has happened, and unfortunately, it turned out to be the latter.

With pounding heart and shaking fingers I hit voice call by his name and he answered with, "I'm looking for her," and I screamed "WHO! WHO,!?" and he said, "Haley has had an accident, and I am on my way." "Is she okay?" I managed to whisper, feeling my knees go weak and he answered, "I don't know. I will call you as soon as I'm there."

So, I went back to my table, and just sat there as all the lucky people who's daughter had not been in what may be a fatal accident continued writing their posts about the best morning smoothie recipes ever. EVER! Finally he calls and I answer bracing myself for what every parent knows is the one thing in life they could not bear. "She's okay,"he says. "I'm with her now."

"Oh my God," I say as I start to cry. "Really?"

"Yup" he says, "She's her old self, texting away in the ambulance."

"AMBULANCE!" I scream..."Which hospital?" and I write it down. I then tell my boss who is the same age as Haley that I must leave, which I do. The hospital is within walking distance of my office and I run all the way. (Carrying a computer bag filled with a  prehistoric MacBook Air, a banana and an Amy's frozen entree. May have looked homeless, now that I think about it...)

I arrive at the hospital and a nurse takes me to the ER cubicle where Haley and Ex are. I pull back the curtain and see my baby, lying on a gurney, a puddle of blood forming beneath it, her face cut, black and blue, one blue eye swollen shut. My ex is standing over her, holding her hand telling her all will be well. We make eye contact and immediately I begin to sob, we stand over her together, knowing how lucky we are, she's okay, she's okay, she's okay.

It was then I realized the marriage is over, but the bond cannot be broken. We have four people in the world that we made together that we both love more than anything. Eventually there will be weddings, (COME ON MER!) babies, and every little person who comes from all of this will have a little bit of both of us swimming around in their DNA.

So, my message here is this: Divorce sucks, but life goes on. For most people, when you leave the table with your settlement in hand, you are angry, you are sad, you have been wronged. But time passes, and the good things in life begin to outweigh the bad. Don't burn your bridges. Forgive each other so that you can share the joys that are coming because of that one day you looked into each other's eyes and said "I do."

Now, if I'm not mistaken, the final season of Mad Men should be ready for streaming, somewhere. So, let the good times roll!

Ex-Wife New Life: living life newly single at 50 while overcoming the pain of divorce and moving on. Visit us @ OR participate @

Saturday, May 9, 2015

Happy Mother's Day

I miss you guys! I know I haven't posted in what seems like years, but the thing is I have a job now, and seriously, this is some heavy shit. First off, they expect me to be there like, every day at the same time...which is a number with AM after it. (Except weekends, they are not TOTAL barbarians.) Secondly, you are supposed to be there for eight hours. WHAT? Everyone knows, I need a little shut eye around 2pm to make it through the day. Mainly, they expect you to get stuff done, and well, frankly, this blew my mind. There apparently is something called productivity in these work places...WHO KNEW? But I'm doing well, have already been promoted once and they just got a fridge installed in the break room so...CHA CHING! Also, there is word that a microwave is coming so I am not going ANYWHERE!

Anyway, with Mother's Day coming right up, I felt I needed to do a post in the honor of my mother. Bear with me, it will seem like it's all about me, but we'll get there.

Saturday I went for my monthly haircut/color with the same guy I have been going to for years. I don't even tell him what to do anymore other than, "Hide the gray and don't make me look like a man." And he usually does all that perfectly, except for this time. In other words, call me MISTER. Koko and STOP STARING! I know, I know...Dude. W T F?

What can I say? We were talking about his six children, and he was cutting away and when I got up to leave I looked in the mirror and was stunned. How can I describe this...let's see...this hair cut makes Glenn Close in "Albert Nobbs" look like an ethereal fairy princess. Does that sort of give you an idea? I mean this was bad people. Not since the shag I got in seventh grade(Thank you mom, great suggestion,) that sealed my fate of being the last one picked for all sports teams, other than Deanna Oglethorpe who wore red corrective shoes and had a weird bald spot, has anything this heinous taken place on my head.

So I stand in my bathroom staring at the back of my head and wondering what the hell can I do? Maybe shave off the rest and grow a beard like guys who have receding hair lines do? You know kind of beating the whole bald thing to the punch?

Feeling somewhat faint and a little hungry but unable to head into the kitchen for fear of running into M, I reached out to the three people in my life who always know how to make me feel better, my two sisters and of course my mother.  I took a selfie of the back of my head and one from the front. I captioned it, "OMG! HOW BAD IS IT????" of course thinking they would say it's not bad at all, quite stylish in fact. Within seconds my support system began weighing in.

Sister 1:  OMG Bruce Jenner in reverse!

Sister 2: HAAAAA OMG Which blade is that? When did you start going to a barber?

Sister 1: If you can't afford a real salon why didn't you come to us? We will start a fund for you

Then my daughter walked in. I pulled her into the bathroom and showed her. "What am I going to do?" I asked her.

"Okay," she said. "It  IS a little short. In 2018 when you go for your NEXT haircut, tell him not to cut it so short." And walked away laughing.

Oh I was devasated. The kids at the office would have a field day with this, as would their dogs!  I already wore shoes with special insoles and had my Lactaid stored in the work fridge. This would seal the deal as the weird old lady at work.

But then...there it was, my beacon in the night, a source of hope to pull me from this despair, a text from my mother:

Sisters are teasing you. The front looks great. Love the highlights. It's nice to have a different look!

Now THAT is what being a mother is all about. And that text gave me the strength to come out of the bathroom, head into the kitchen with my head held high and make myself a tuna sandwich. While I was eating, I realized what was so special about that text...she really BELIEVES that.  She BELIEVES it when I tell her I've gained a few pounds and she says, "It's nice to have a little shape!" Because she's a mother, and when she looks at her children she doesn't see bad haircuts or a few extra pounds...she sees a person that she loves more than anyone or anything on Earth.  And it's knowing that that gives us the strength to get through bad haircuts, horrific breakups, problems with our OWN children and just the occasional plain old shitty day.

And it's knowing that, that let's me forgive her for the 7th grade shag that accented my big teeth and uni-brow. Not sure what she was thinking with that one...but all is forgiven. I love you mom.
Happy Mother's Day.

Ex-Wife New Life: living life newly single at 50 while overcoming the pain of divorce and moving on. Visit us @ OR participate @

Sunday, March 15, 2015


Last night was well...amazing. It was Saturday night and M and I were out on the town. I had outdone myself with my black boots (sort of Captain Jack Sparrow looking but on sale at Nordstrom Rack!) skinny jeans, and a long clingy top, Spanx on bottom, Spanx on top and BAM, pure magic.

As M and I cruised restaurant row, people from the bars and restaurants had overflowed onto the street. I could not go more than a couple of feet without men gaping at me. I mean mouth open gaping. Some of them were mid-bite  their cheezy piece of Fortunato's pizza and still turned all the way around to watch me walk by.

OMG, and here all this time (Well the last year or two) I had been worrying about back fat? Ridiculous! Obviously men love a little som'n som'n to grab onto. How much had I spent SO FAR, on eybrow gels, pencils and powders? Crazy! Obviously men love that look of surprise that is now permanently etched on my face!

And then, one young, handsome guy actually begins to make his way over to me. And I'm like "Dude, AWKWARD!" I mean M is standing right here! And he walks over to  me and I'm thinking "Oh wow, I hope M doesn't get too worked up, I mean I will just say, "Thank you so much, but I'm actually with somebody," (Which is what the first and ONLY guy I ever approached in a bar said to me back in the day. Still smarts.)

He makes his way towards me and I inwardly lick my teeth because before leaving home I ate yogurt with Chia seeds, and here he comes and then... there he goes. And then it hits me, I totally forgot ! My 23 year old, blonde, blue eyed daughter is walking with us, instagramming on her phone, totally oblivious to the havoc she is wreaking.

He pushes past me and makes a b-line for her, where a quick conversation ensues before she sends him on his way. "I'm hanging out with my mom tonight" she says. And he sort of looked over at me and waved at me and yelled as if I was deaf, "Hi! I'm just talking with your sister for a minute!" and then I heard him say something like, "Oh aren't you nice? Call me after you get her settled in for the night and we'll go listen to some jazz."

And two totally different feelings washed over me, 1. Pride for my beautiful daughter who is oblivious to her youth and beauty and 2. Pain as my upper Spanx rolled up under my boobs and I realized, I am invisible.

And that's okay because I had my day in the sun and now I have two daughters whose time it is to shine. And I love watching them and there are times I can't believe I made them because they are turning into beautiful women, that I love with all my heart.

It's just that, this experience comes at the end of a week where I started a new job...I mean I think it's a's either a job or a week long play date as all of my co-workers have to remove their retainers before they eat. One girl showed up and said, "Hope you guys don't mind, I'm working in my pajamas today," and I'm thinking AWESOME! Perhaps I will come in my "MORNING SUNSHINE" t shirt and sleep shorts tomorrow.  In fact, Wednesday my editor announced it was his birthday, "I'm a quarter century old today." Okay, so I assumed we were carpooling to Chucky Cheese at lunch time.

But that didn't happen because nobody eats lunch.  Apparently no one else looks at the clock every ten minutes and thinks "Okay at 10:00 I will eat my hard boiled egg, and then at 12:00 my roasted beet salad from Trader Joe's and finish the day up at 3:00 with my chocolate coconut KIND bar. That should hold me."  Quarter century old bodies apparently can live on RedBull and Trail mix.

No one else heaves themselves off the communal "Pit Couch" grunting like a water buffalo while supporting their back with their hands, no one else is taking 10,000 mgs of Vitamin D with Calcium at lunchtime and no one else is receiving text messages from their daughter saying "Dropping off my laundry! Can I have it by tomorrow?" That's because no one else is OLD!

I am now officially the old lady in the room. Ugh! But in a way, I'm okay with it because, DUDE, I am holding my own. I go to work, I write my stories, I even know how to photoshop images and stuff now! I eat my egg and my salad—at the end of the day I heave myself off the pit couch and drive home.  I come home to a loving partner and a cat who pretends he doesn't know we exist but crawls up on our bed as soon as we fall asleep.

Morning comes and I get ready to do it all again. Stories already filling my head, that will later take shape on the page. I pack up my egg, my salad my Kind bar. Grab my robe, shove my feet into slippers and off I go!  Just another day at the office.


Ex-Wife New Life: living life newly single at 50 while overcoming the pain of divorce and moving on. Visit us @ OR participate @

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

5 Things NOT TO SAY in a Relationship

When I went through my divorce, I thought, among other things, (like with my alimony,Really? People live on that?)  that’s it—I’m done. And by done, I meant I will never laugh again, I will never love again, I will certainly never have sex again. I prepared myself to settle into middle age, debated getting a maroon velour Lazy-Boy recliner and a TV tray. Wait! Some recliners have built in cup holders? Well, things ARE looking up!

That lasted about six months, while I watched every Real Housewives episode from every city, (Still love you Countess LuAnn!) gained about five pounds from Top Chef marathons and actually went through my ex’s whole collection of expensive Italian wines. I’m not afraid to admit: I missed having a man in my life damn it! So, I bought myself a pair of skinny jeans, a red shawl from Anthropologie (during the brief shawl resurgence before we all realized we looked like that weird librarian in junior high) a pair of Steve Madden wedges and off I went. I dived into that crazy, weird, please don’t be a serial killer, world of online dating.

Man, I had some doozies. And, I met some very nice men too. Some actually were single! But I had fun. I flirted. I dated. I felt pretty. And then I got lucky. Very lucky. I met a wonderful man. We have been together for almost six years now. We are not married, may never be, but we are committed, we are soul mates, we have a cat together, so...I mean I’M not going anywhere.

There is a huge, growing population of us middle aged folks entering into and living in, second relationships. I have found it to be much different than my first marriage. The two big stressers children and finances are no longer factors. You each have your children, who most likely are on their way to being grown adults. You each have your own finances, however measly they may be, but they’re yours and you are in charge of your own financial future.

This time you focus on the love, the companionship and the intimacy of being with another person. It’s lovely. 

Yet, in my six years of being in this wonderful relationship I have found there are still certain things one can say that do not go over well. They didn’t in the first marriage, and they still are not working. So here are my top five things NOT TO SAY in your new, happy, so glad I found you, relationship.

1.  Is THAT what you’re wearing?  Now, I’m not sure what you mean by that, but you can see we are walking out the door, I have my purse over my shoulder, and I am not naked. So YES, this is what I’m wearing.

2. Hey, do you want to join a gym with me? I don’t know...would you like to join a scrap booking club with me? What are you trying to say?

3.  Seriously? You just ate!  Um...have you not heard of dessert? Take it from me, if your significant other climbs into bed with a bowl of fruit, cereal or ice cream after dinner, leave it alone. No comments necessary.

4. Are you going to leave that there? What? Oh no. I’m just placing it there FOR NOW. You know, until one day the feeling comes over me and I walk over to it, pick it up, and decide to move it to another place that you’ll like even better.

5.   Isn’t today garbage day? Now typically, this will be in the morning as you are lying there spooning. And take it from me it’s a mood killer. Because I take it to mean, “Hey, can you get your big lazy butt out there and drag the can to the curb? Can you? Or, do I have to do EVERYTHING?” So, yeah...not good.

Anyway, I think if you watch out for these pitfalls, you have a good chance at a happy second, long lasting relationship. Plus you will save a whole lot of money on recliners, especially the ones with the cup holders. They are apparently pretty proud of those things.


Ex-Wife New Life: living life newly single at 50 while overcoming the pain of divorce and moving on. Visit us @ OR participate @

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Taking a Sick Day

The other morning I was in spin class and half way through the first rendition of TIMBER, I began to feel a bit tired. I was sort of disappointed in myself. I told myself “Dude. You spin like three times a week, unless A. It’s raining B. Someone-ANYONE invites you out for an early cocktail or C. You forgot to put your purple Rain Gatorade in the outdoor fridge. So, you should really be able to make it at least half way through the class before you start pretending you are turning that little tension knob to the right and make a great show of pedaling real slow as if you really ARE doing a seated climb."

From there I proceeded to my daily errands and found some little naggy pains in my stomach becoming more and more ominous. As I drove home, I found my hands seizing up, my legs beginning to ache, my back clinching up and realized OMG. I have Ebola. There could be no other explanation for the stabbing pain in my head and neck. Just when things were going so well, and I finally filled up all the little punch holes in my buy ten get one free hand massage at my nail place—and NO, I didn’t work today, lady.

Ugh. I was hot-I was cold. I made my way from the car to my closet and put on a pair of wool tights, socks and a Spanx camisole. (I don’t want my fat sticking out when the coroner comes to take me to the morgue.) I then fell into bed, and as that fitful sleep that comes with illness began to overtake me I thought, “Wait! What do I have to do before I give in? Is everyone fed, is the dog walked, is the cat litter clean, are the backpacks ready for the morning?” and then even in my near delirium I realized, I don’t have to do a thing. For the first time in thirty years, I could just be sick and enjoy it.

I am finally getting to take a sick day. When the kids were little, there were no such things. Running from room to room, cleaning up bodily fluids during a stomach flu marathon, it never occurred to me to give in to the horrendous nausea that overtook me as I went into my two year old son’s room after he yelled “Hey Mommy! I’m burping!” and found rivers of vomit on his bed.
It never occurred to me I might need an antibiotic for Strep when every swallow burned like fire. Not when there was a little league team waiting on their juice boxes. I’m sorry, lay down with two Excedrin with a raging sinus headache that felt like a knife in my eye? Um, not today, when I am lunch mom and the second graders need someone to line them up in the hallway. No. Not today.

But today, Yes. I gave in. In and out of a sweaty slumber, I tried to remember how many people had succumbed to the horrendous Ebola and who had survived. If that nurse could make it so could I, I mean she went to work every day and then was like, “Hey, I don’t feel so good,” and her friends took great care of her and then she was better, running around the hospital infecting God knows who else. And I had M, who insisted on bringing me won ton soup even though I said there was no way I could possibly eat it. (Turns out I did with a few fried noodles as well.)

Through the afternoon I received worried messages from my daughter:
Want to go to lunch?

can’t sick. really sick.

ok. what’s your debit card number i order pizza

 I slept fitfully during the night remembering that my most current will is from 1993 and wondering how my sister will feel about four adults coming to live with her. (She is the sole provider for  my children upon my early demise and Yes I consider this early.) I dreamed of my funeral, and hoped M would remember to give the funeral guy my closed toe shoes because I haven’t had a pedicure since the nail tech held my foot up and said, “Oh poor lady. Wah happened lady?”

Then morning came and I was better. Still a little weak, a little achy, but certainly not Ebola ridden. I realized I was in a new phase of life, a peaceful phase, a quieter phase, an it’s okay to be sick every once in a while phase. A STAY IN BED AND WATCH TWO FULL SEASONS OF DOWNTON ABBEY phase. And I was okay with it, because like all you moms out there, I earned it and I am cashing in.


Ex-Wife New Life: living life newly single at 50 while overcoming the pain of divorce and moving on. Visit us @ OR participate @

Thursday, January 29, 2015

What's Ahead for Mommy Bloggers

Here’s what I would like to say to all the mommy bloggers who are good writers, and pretty funny and offer good advice about how to deal with a toddler who will only wear ballerina tutu’syou ain’t seen nothin' yet. And you moms out there who have kids over five, know what I mean. 

They say you are only as happy as your unhappiest child, and there are no truer words.  
How can you simply go about your day, enjoying your morning coffee, your Weight Watcher’s vegetable teriyaki rice at lunch time, a dirty martini with 3 blue cheese olives (hence the Weight Watcher’s) when that clock strikes five, if your child is suffering? And by suffering I don’t mean an injury, or God forbid an illness, I mean, you know, like, if someone made fun of their shoes, or they didn’t get into their chosen sorority. (You bitches, I haven’t forgotten.) Perhaps they didn’t get put into the baseball game that time you flew your whole family out to Orlando when the team made the little league play offs, and to this day, Uncle Irwin still asks why little Johnny had to sit the bench when he and Aunt Judy drove up all the way up from Longwood. Whatever it is, it affects us in a big way. BIG.

And so it is today, that I sit here feeling sad, weighted down, helpless, after receiving a call from my daughter. Things were going so well too, so far, I mean, it’s only 9:04 am. I was sipping my morning coffee, and saw her name come up as my phone buzzed away. 

Could it be she is simply calling to say “Hi Mom! Have a great day!?” Yes I know, that is funny. Basically when my kids call this early in the morning I answer the phone with “WHAT! WHAT HAPPENED!!??” And just as I feared, there was something wrong. And this time it is big, worse than when she called me and said “Get over here. A kid on a bike just ran into my car.” Worse than when she called me and said, “Hey there are a bunch of cops outside. Did you ever take care of that citation?” (I hadn’t and bad things ensued. Don’t remind me.)

You see, it seems that daughter's iPhone is outdated and will not sync with her computer. On top of this horrendous news, she also shared with me that her television is not a smart TV and she is having trouble watching Netflix on her small lap top. Hulu is also an issue. Well, needless to say, MY day is ruined. 

The hard part, I guess is that I am powerless to help her. Due to my eeensy weensy alimony (which btw-runs out in a few years, just in time for me to break a hip and be TOTALLY unemployable) and my desire to keep the IRS happy this year, I have no way of fixing this for her. I can only sit by, devastated, watching her struggle and suffer. Yet I know she is strong, capable, will somehow find a way to overcome these trying times. She will survive and one day, who knows, maybe by some miracle we will have an upgrade on our Sprint account and she will enter the kiosk, strong, self assured and leave, victorious, new iPhone 6, 7, 8 whatever, in her sweet little hands.

And so, I guess the only thing I can offer her is advice, and that is “THEN GO READ A BOOK and start saving your money!” Do not call me before noon! Remember you have TWO parents! Buckle down. Work hard.

Mommy loves you.


Ex-Wife New Life: living life newly single at 50 while overcoming the pain of divorce and moving on. Visit us @ OR participate @

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Dating After Divorce-Are You Ready?

Back in the days when I was happily married, friends and I would sit around over our Wine Spritzers, (this was before the day I switched over to hard core dirty martinis) and talk about our marriages, which was easy to do because we were so IN them. So secure in our relationships, so blinded to the perilous bends in the road that we were driving towards, we would say things like, “Well if anything, GOD FORBID, ever happened to Paul, I don’t think I would ever remarry.” And by anything, we meant, a fatal accident or insidious illness snatching them out of our happy little lives. At this point we could not see any other way that they would leave us. Certainly not of their own volition, walking out the front door on their two strong healthy legs, their arms full of clothing and items they felt mattered enough to take with them. Certainly not driving away in their car towards something or someone who promised excitement, newness, MORE than meatloaf Wednesdays, Saturday night movies and frozen yogurt, and Sunday dinners at the parents.

Anyway we would continue, “I mean why would I ever remarry? I’ve had the love of my life, I’ve had my children. I could be happy alone, I think.” “Yes,” we all would agree as the spritzer bubbled up a little bit in our throats, causing us to hiccup and giggle, as we divided up the check and headed home to watch Seinfeld with our hubbies. Yes, I could be happy alone.

During my divorce years, I had a slightly different view. I wanted to be alone because I could never imagine being with another man— not because I still loved my ex-husband or even because I didn’t want strange feet in my bed, ( I have a thing about feet, trying to work through it...) but because I hated men. I might be standing behind you in line at the grocery and say, “I hate men don’t you?” and then you would say, “Whew boy! I hear ya, can’t wait for football season to end!” and then I would say, tears streaming down my face, “No, I mean don’t you really hate them?” at which point you would say “OH! They have bogo on fire roasted tomatoes!” and slowly back away with your cart in search of a line with normal people in it.

And then. I was out to dinner with some friends and I heard the deep laugh of a man make its way across the room. I felt a little chill go across my shoulders, a little tingle in my nethers. I would be talking to the sales guy at Bed Bath and Beyond about the Keurig (Should I or shouldn’t I? I didn’t. I still have to fresh grind) and get a whiff of his after shave. Similar result. As these feelings began to overtake me more and more, I realized I was no longer living alone I was living lonely. I was ready to date. Here are some ways that you will know the time has come!
  1. “Divorced” is no longer how you describe yourself: For awhile after my divorce when I met new people who asked me, “So what do you do?” I would answer “I’m divorced.” Then, as time and healing went on I would answer,”I’m a writer.” Then they would say, “Oh what have you written?” Ugh. Noseys. Then I went into real estate so I could answer, “I’m a realtor,” but then they would say “Oh how many listings do you have?” so, that wasn’t really working either, but you get my point.

  1. You are no longer angry at your ex:  This is a big one. For a very long time the only way I would communicate with my ex was through email, with, I am very ashamed to admit the words M-----F------in the subject line. Horrible. Then one day we had a reason to meet for coffee, you know with four kids, things come up that cannot be dealt with on the internet. So we met for coffee, and we laughed and reminisced and when I left there I was like, “OMG! I really want him to be happy!”  I felt ten pounds lighter and happier myself.

  1. You CAN live alone: Here’s the thing, now you know you can live alone. You’re doing it! You are strong and independent, and can take care of yourself. You know when you decide to date it won’t be to find a caretaker, it will be to find a loving partner and companion.  

  1. You miss the sex, companionship, intimacy of a relationship: Isn’t that what it boils down to? What woman eventually does not miss strong arms around her from time to time, help with her zipper, a man sitting beside her making fun of the Real Housewives, but SITTING THERE because she likes it. Is it wrong to miss having a car door opened, a dinner reservation made, a cup of morning coffee brought? Is there anything better than bed talk— sharing your thoughts on the dinner party you just attended, your new job prospect, your daughter’s boyfriend? No. And if you’re ready, you can have it all on your terms, in your way.

If this applies to you, if you feel you are ready, go for it—get out there. Have a friend introduce you to someone or try online dating. I have found once you are ready and open to it, opportunities will come your way. Don’t be scared, just be smart. You’re ready.

*First Printed Huffington Post Divorce, January 21, 2015


Ex-Wife New Life: living life newly single at 50 while overcoming the pain of divorce and moving on. Visit us @ OR participate @