Want to Know Why You Have to Log In With Facebook?

Dear reader,

If you’re a returning reader of my blog, I love you!, and allow me to explain the new Facebook login.

As you might remember, I have had some issues in the past with people from my real life – and I’m not talking selected friends and family–  reading my blog. While this is certainly flattering, it also makes me very self-conscious.

The reason why I love blogging is because I don’t hold back. I have shared everything from my raw post-divorce pain to my first sex (finally!) to getting dumped (more than once!). For me to write freely about my life and the lessons I’m trying so hard to learn, I can’t be worrying about what others think. I need to write for me, and it’s a huge bonus if you read what I write and even more awesome if you connect to my words.

This is an icky way to feel when writing about
really personal crap.

The past few months, I have gotten word again that people who know me – but I don’t necessarily know them – are reading my blog. It's a mind fuck; this feels like a cross between being someone walking in on you masturbating and getting caught crying when you thought no one could hear you.

These are not people I would talk to about heartbreak or orgasms in real life, so I am not comfortable with those people reading my blog. 

Lucky for me, I have a genius programmer friend who would be an amazing criminal if he weren’t an upstanding guy. He has been super supportive of my writing and this blog. When I told him how upset I was about the situation and that I was considering pulling the plug on my blog, he wouldn’t have it. Instead, he came up with this great solution: require a Facebook login simply so I can know who’s stopping by my blog. If there are visitors that I’m not comfortable with, I can talk to them directly. He built it, and here we are! (I told you I have awesome friends.)

So, this is why you are now being asked to log in with your Facebook account. 

To be clear:

• I will never friend you
• I will never post anything on your wall
• I will never invite you to play Candy Crush with me (is that what people are playing?)

I know it’s annoying to log in, but know how much I appreciate your readership and comments, so I hope you will stay with me despite this extra login step.

Have any questions or concerns about logging in? Leave them in the comments and either I or my genius friend will respond.

Love, 

Kat 

7 Reasons Why I'm Grateful for My Broken Kneecap

It’s been 43 days since I broke my kneecap.

My knee is bigger than my quad!
Waaahhhhh!

43 days since I have shaved or properly bathed my left leg.

43 days since I slept on my side or stomach.

43 days since I wore a skirt or dress or high heels or pants with a zipper.

43 days since I drove a car or carried a bag of groceries or climbed on my kitchen counter to reach a mixing bowl.

Going from being a single and very independent woman to needing help with everything – in the beginning, my mom had to dress me – has been hard on my pride and my self image. I have watched my strong legs turn pale and soft. I miss exercise so much that I have literally dreamed about it and started crying just talking about running with my physical therapist.

But, as I do start to see progress, thanks to time and physical therapy, I have started to gain some clarity.

Not unlike with my divorce, going through something challenging and shitty reminds me of just how many blessings I have.

My broken kneecap has made me pause and be grateful because:

1. I am close with my parents, both emotionally and geographically. I would have been absolutely lost without my parents. I stayed with them for 24 days when I needed help with, well, EVERYTHING. Thankfully we have a good relationship, my parents are in good health, and they only live an hour away from me.
2. I have built up a wonderful group of friends where I live. After almost 12 years in the Ford area, I have the kinds of friends who cart me to physical therapy and book club and the local bar; help me change my bed sheets; bring me apple cider and Fireball; take out my recycling; make me dinner; and stop at the grocery store to buy me Silk Light Soymilk.
   Love, love, love my friends!
3. I have great coworkers. My team made me feel missed and important through my weeks of working from home. They even sent me a thoughtful gift basket with wine (because, duh, I’m me); fruit (because they knew I would want to be super careful about my eating); and a little chocolate (because I freaking deserved it).
4. I have extended relationships from friendly acquaintance to actual friendship. When I returned to Ford, I found myself with more free time that I expected. Without going to the gym, my evenings are open, giving me time to reach out to several women who were just friendly acquaintances, but I’d always wanted to get to know them more. Those evenings out with them were awesome!
5. I have excellent health insurance. One trip to the ER, two visits to the orthopedist, three physical therapy appointments, and some prescriptions for painkillers and I’m not up to my ears in bills.
6. I have not been able to pursue some fun booty calls. OK, this sucked in the moment, but it’s for probably the best. So weird, but several 20-somethings from my past suddenly had me on the brain – including Jason, the Incredible Sex.
   All I had to do was send a picture of my leg brace and away they went. Just as well, I think.
7. I have a sweet ex mother-in-law. It’s been two years since I told my in-laws that I was divorcing their son. No matter. Since I fell, she has sent me two get well cards, called once, and emails to check in.
   As she wrote to me in an email, “Thank God for parents and friends. Even ex in-laws will help if needed. Don’t ever forget that.”

The Terminator brace.

(And, I can’t put this on the Why I’m Grateful list, but interestingly, since I have been on crutches I have met two cool guys in real life. I think seeing a woman on crutches brings out a man’s desire to be the knight in shining armor. And hey, I do need someone to open the door and help me with my coat and assist me with getting on to a bar stool, so it works out nicely! One guy is moving back to Ford in two weeks, and the other lives in western Pennsylvania. I’m not ready to share details yet, particularly on the Pennsylvania guy, so let’s just see what happen in the coming weeks.)

So, while I cannot wait to get this damn brace off my leg, at least it can remind me that this is just one moment in my life. Permanent damage has not been done. I will heal and bounce back, and I will have the love and support of my family and friends… just like when I got divorced.

What misfortune have you endured that made you more appreciative of your life?

Divorced Woman Breaks Her Kneecap. Who Will Take Care of Her?

I call it my Terminator Brace.
You should see how I fill out sweatpants. HOT!

“Emergency contact is Max?” the receptionist asked without looking away from her laptop screen.

I was in Urgent Care at my local hospital with my friend Pete. Three days after running my third half marathon, Pete and I had gone to a wine tasting in the afternoon in Manhattan. We had a fun, tipsy time day drinking, but afterward, I somehow tripped on the sidewalk (probably over my own foot) and l apparently I broke my entire fall with my left knee. By the time we were on the train back to Ford, my knee was so swollen that my jeans were tight around it. So, we went straight to Urgent Care.

During the intake, the receptionist reviewed my file. We updated my address (the one I shared with Max), my name (Max’s last name), and, of course, the emergency contact.

“No, please change the emergency contact. It’s now my sister, Katherine,” I said evenly, trying to focus on the pain in my knee and not the small lump forming in my throat.

Once my file was updated, Pete rolled me in my wheelchair back to the waiting area. He tried to make me laugh as I flipped between worrying about the shooting pain in my knee and my disbelief that in this moment, it was happening again.

I missed my ex-husband.

Over and over, even now two years after I filed for divorce, these moments crop up when my divorce unexpectedly kicks me in the gut.

I called my mom. If I couldn’t have Max, I definitely wanted to talk to my mom. I started telling her about my knee, but assured her I’d be OK. She told me to keep her updated.

A few minutes later, I was in an examining room and the medical attention [torture] began.

The attendant needed my jeans to come off. The pain of trying to stand was terrible, like nothing I’ve ever felt. I couldn’t put any weight on my leg so it took a team effort to get my pants off. The team included Pete, and through my start of what would be hours of tears, I gasped out, “Don’t enjoy this too much!”

The doctor tried to examine my knee, but every move was putting me in greater pain. When he left the room, I cried harder.

“Pete, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I want Max! And I’m so fucking mad that all this time later, I still want him!”

I sniffed. I thought about it for a moment. I didn’t exactly want Max, not for real. More like I wanted the Max from about five years ago. His mom is a nurse, and he inherited her calm in medical situations, like the times when I burned my hand on the toaster oven, when I had a small skin growth removed from my back, and when I sliced my finger on a shattered pint glass. He quietly and confidently dressed my wounds, making me feel loved and safe.

I was scared. I had never so much as sprained a finger, and I haven’t even been sick in years. I don’t know about you, but being scared like this just made me want family. The harsh reality was that Max was no longer family. 

No, it was Mom who I needed.

Right. Now.

When I was a child, I had severe asthma. During my late night nebulizer treatments and many trips to the emergency room, it was always Mom who was there. (Dad is awesome too, but he doesn’t do medical; Dad’s motto was, “wait until Mommy gets home” for all matters of injury or bodily fluids.) She would let me squeeze her cold hand as I sobbed from adrenalin shots.

In hindsight, Mom must have been pretty scared sometimes, seeing her daughter gasping for breath. But, like Max, Mom quietly and confidently made me feel loved and safe.

Through my tears, I asked – let’s be honest, demanded! – that Pete call my mom. By now it was 9:30 p.m. and she lived an hour away. He asked her to come as soon as possible.

Next, they had to X-ray my knee. I have never given birth, but I sure hope the pain isn’t as bad as this was! I couldn’t hold back anymore. As the technician made a futile attempt to straighten my knee, I started wailing.

“Call my mom again!” I cried desperately to Pete.

 “Where is she?!”

Turns out it had been about 20 minutes since I’d last demanded that Pete call her. Whoops.

Finally the doctor came in and told me I had fractured my kneecap. The next step was to put me in a full leg brace.

The positioning for the X-ray was bad. Straightening my leg and strapping it into the brace was worse.

Poor Pete. I made him call my mom again.

Finally, I was given a Percocet and we were told to go home. Can you imagine what a nightmare it was to get me into my apartment?!  I was wobbly on my crutches and all in all a miserable sight to behold. Again, POOR PETE.

Finally, Mom arrived. 

She and Pete hoisted me into my king size bed. At last, Pete could go home.

I thanked him again and then cried myself to sleep.

Breakfast of Champions.
Thanks, Mom!

At 7 a.m., I called out for Mom, as she had slept on the couch. She came rushing in with Percocet in one hand, and Halloween Peeps and Twizzlers in her other hand.

Even through my pain, I laughed a little.

Mom, clearly exhausted, smiled and shrugged. “When I went to the all-night pharmacy, I saw these and thought you should have them. I know the Peeps aren’t stale yet but we can open them now and they should be the way you like them in a day or two.”

Hells yeah, you guys. I love stale Peeps, and leave it to my mom to remember that, even at 2 a.m. at the pharmacy.

I took my Percocet and then Mom got in bed with me. Not long after, we both fell asleep in the bed that I used to share with my ex-husband.

Mom was who I needed, and no one else. 

When has your family supported you in a moment that would have previously been handled by your spouse? 

5 Simple Pleasures of Being Married . . . and 5 Joys of Being Divorced!

You know what I totally miss about being married?

Holding hands while walking to dinner. That was pretty awesome.

You know what I don’t miss about being married?

Compromising on what to have for dinner. That was pretty annoying.

Ahh, Max and I loved annoying each other!

I have been divorced for 19 months (wow!) and living on my own for a year. I can clearly remember – and sometimes, even ache for – the simple joys and pleasures of being Max’s girlfriend, then fiancée, then wife. He was an awful partner in the biblical sense, but sweet and fun as my significant other.

But other times, when I’m out with friends or blogging on my couch with a cup of tea, I revel in my single/divorced status (I’m never sure which word to use to describe myself). I feel so pleased with my life that I can’t even imagine how a boyfriend would fit in!

It’s the everyday pleasures that make up our lives, so let’s take a look what made me happy when I was married, and what I’m embracing now.

Simple stuff I took for granted when I was married:

1.  Snuggling and hand holding anytime. I’m physically affectionate, and the truth is I don’t get much contact these days. Just last night, I woke up in the middle of night and my barely waking thought was, I wanna snuggle. Dammit. Pooh Bear and my assortment of pillows just aren’t the same.
2. Being part of an automatic team. Carrying the groceries up from the car. Putting up the Christmas tree. Attending events when you know no one but your significant other. No problems when you’re married, but challenging (or even depressing) when you’re not.
3. Getting opinions on how I look. Max is definitely a guy’s guy, but he could be quite useful with helping me decide what clothes look good on me. Now I have to text selfies to my girlfriends and await their verdicts.
4. Talking about my workday. Max’s brain works differently from mine, so I really liked being able to share my workday and listen to his perspective. He would really help me sort through challenges and frustrations and focus on my goals. 
5. Not worrying about locking myself out of my apartment. I am super paranoid about locking myself out of my apartment. Like I put my key in my purse a moment before I leave and then look for it like six more times before I close the door. It’s pretty weird. At least when I lived with Max, I knew I’d never have to wait that long for him to return should I ever lock myself out (which I never did in our six years living together). My solution today? Jen and Tina both have copies of my keys.

Simple stuff I embrace about being divorced/single:

1. Cooking whatever I want. Now that I don’t have to look for recipes that could work for my vegetarian requirements and my meat eating significant other, I’m getting better at cooking. I try more stuff, like this and this!
2. Sundays. After I moved into my own apartment last year, Sundays were hard for me. I often felt lonely, and even worse, bored! Like, what the heck do I do with myself? No more. Now I love Sundays! They’re great for low pressure dates, or hanging with a girlfriend, or doing alone time. This past Sunday, I ran 9 miles and then took a yoga class, read a book on my patio, and was in bed by 10 p.m. PERFECTION.
3. Not turning on the TV. I am pleasantly surprised that I sometimes have entire days when I don’t turn on my TV at all. That never happened when I was married. Max is a channel surfer (I hate even watching people do that!). There was always a football game or show on the History Channel that Max would watch. TV came to symbolize noise pollution in my home, not to mention a way to mask the silence between me and my husband.

4. Making my bed. It’s funny that this makes the list because I always HATED making my bed. As an adult, I tried to force myself to make my bed a few times a week. But Max always got up after me, so that meant our bed was made maybe twice a month. Now? Every single day, I take pride as I smooth the Crate & Barrel duvet cover (wedding gift, of course) across my king size bed.
5. Having an orgasm. I was in a sexless relationship and I didn’t masturbate, so for years, I had no orgasms. NONE! How freaking sad is that?! I was completely depending on someone else to provide me with the most basic human desire, which is just silly. I'm currently on a break from dating, but no matter -- I have my goody drawer, as every adult should. 

I am proud that I can fondly remember and even miss the little joys from my marriage, but that they don’t cast shadows on my single life.

What are the little things you miss about being in a relationship? And what’s are your simple pleasures about being single?

Loving, Supportive Parents Make Me Not Want to Have Kids

When I was growing up, my parents provided everything I needed and then some. 

I was encouraged to try a variety of activities from softball to acting to cheerleading. I had tutors for math. I was applauded for good efforts and scolded for laziness. I learned faith through going to church as a family every Sunday (I’m no longer Christian but I still appreciate the act of imparting faith). I am one of three kids and my parents made a point to keep things fair among the three of us, so I always felt equally - but individually - loved.

I grew up believing I could do anything, and I thank my parents for that belief.

Certainly there were and are some things that one parent does more or better than the other. For example, my mom was the one I remember being by my side in the hospital and calming me through my terrible asthma attacks while my dad is the one I remember obsessing over his kids’ college searches and researching every reach to safety school we might want. Between Mom and Dad, my needs were more than met and I was and am completely loved.

I guess I’m an adult now. I continue to find myself calling home, and sometimes I’ll talk to whoever answers, and other times I specifically need to talk to Mom or Dad (like the day my marriage died).

After having had such great parents, you might think I would be desperate to have kids of my own. Well, I'm not.

I'm not sure if it's a good thing or a sad thing, but the desire I once had for children with Max has been all but extinguished. 

I don’t desire motherhood; I desire a two-parent partnership for both me and my children.

I hope I get to have one of these someday.
This one seems to like me.

My point was proven last week when I spent five days surrounded by children and two sets of devoted parents. 

I was visiting Ali, one of my best friends in the universe. She just had her second child, so I was in town to help. I had the up close, personal, and sometimes disgusting look at parenthood as I cuddled her six-week-old infant. Ali and her husband were doing the parenthood thing seamlessly in little moments like when Ali nursed the baby while her husband cooked eggs for their toddler son. Sure, there was a little bickering here and there between these tired parents, but they were working together to keep their children healthy and happy. I marveled at how blessed their children were.

Also during my visit, I saw my brother and his wife for my nephew’s second birthday party. It’s been incredible to see my siblings become parents and find out which of our parents’ habits they have incorporated (or dropped). Anyway, I loved watching how my nephew fluidly ran between his parents, which is no surprise because my brother and his wife really take a team approach to parenting.

Loving, supportive parents have made me
not want to have children (yet).

I had pangs during my visit when I felt achingly sad to be childless. Part of me so wants to be a mom. I’d be an awesome mom, I’m sure of it! But when I lost Max, everything changed. I’d want to bring my child into this world into two pairs of loving arms. My parents had each other to lean on through raising three kids.  I want to share parenthood, from the literally shitty moments to the precious ones. I just can’t fully desire motherhood without a man who would be a wonderful father.

Sadly, Max would have been that wonderful father, but as we learned in an awkward lesson with the school nurse in fifth grade, you need sex to make babies. And that leaves me 34-year-old, divorced, and childless. 

In the meantime, I'll cherish being an awesome aunt and friend to the many precious children in my life.

If you’re single and childless, do you want children? How does having someone to have children with factor into your desire for children? If you’re a single parent, did your approach to parenting change after your split? Or, did anyone actively choose to be a single parent?

See also: I'm Not A  Mom. Do I Cry or Cheer?

P.S. My search for my perfect home continues. I'll find it one of these days!

I Had Lunch with My Ex-Husband. It Made Me Happy.

A few days after the first anniversary of my divorce, I had lunch with my ex-husband. It was exactly what I needed.

We briefly saw each other in December when he returned my Christmas DVDs to me, but we otherwise hadn’t spent time together since November.

I had plans to be in New York City, so I’d asked him if he wanted to get together. He responded that he would clear the calendar for the weekend so he could see me anytime.

I arrived at the Meatball Shop (my pick – they have veggie balls) a little early, so I texted him to let him know I had a table for us. He responded that he was on his way.

Our lunch wasn't this romantic.

As he approached the restaurant, his head was turned, peering into the restaurant. He was looking for me, his ex-wife. His eyes caught mine and he beamed.

Oh, his smile.

Max has one of those smiles that truly lights up his face. I know that sounds corny, but there really are people with those kinds of smiles. (I’m not one of them. I just have a regular smile.) His smile has always warmed me. Seeing that smile for me made me feel about 93% joyful and 7% terribly, terribly sad and wistful.

His big brown eyes shone as he walked towards me. Stone Temple Pilots was playing. We automatically opened our arms and embraced in the middle of the Meatball Shop. It was a rich hug, the kind of hug that only happens between two people who really, truly care for each other.

We finally sat down and chatted away for the next 90 minutes. We talked about everything and nothing. He asked if I’d run out of my stash of Mary Lou’s coffee, and if so he’d buy me more the next time he goes to Massachusetts. I told him about my half marathon training. He told me his best friend, who was devastated by his divorce five years ago, is engaged. I told him that my brother and sister-in-law are expecting another baby. He shared the latest on a huge project at work, for which I’ve always been his biggest supporter.

After our meat and veggie balls, three cookies, and a scoop of ice cream, we surrendered. The bill came and Max grabbed it.

“Max, come on,” I said. “You don’t have to pay. Let’s split it." Afterall, this was the polar opposite of a date!

“No, I insist,” he said, slapping down some cash.

I know him better than anyone, so I knew I would lose this debate.

“Fine. Then can lunch be on me next time?” I asked carefully.

He looked up from the bill and flashed that smile. (Oh, his smile.)

“Deal.”

He walked me back to the subway. I had the fleeting urge to grab his hand – I guess old habits die hard. At the entrance to the 4/5/6 train, we embraced. Twice. We promised to do this again soon. I believe we both actually meant it.

I looked back as I walked down the steps into the subway. He was watching me go, making sure I got down the steps safely. We both smiled and waved goodbye again, and then I disappeared into the crowded subway. 

When was the last time you saw your former spouse? What was it like?

27 Reasons I'll Never Forget Being 33 Years Old

On December 27, I turned 34 years young.

Being 33 was one hell of a year! One of the record books, and by “record books” I mean this blog. The year kicked off with a surprise birthday gathering with my closest friends in NYC (thank you again, Sue and Ali!), and it set the tone for the year. My 33rd year was one of ups and downs, but so much growth.

In chronological order, here are the 27 reasons I’ll never forget being 33:

1. Went on some dates with Todd. I thought I was ready to start dating. I wasn’t.

2. Made out with Todd. He was the first guy to see my boobs since Max. I thought I was going to have sex with him. Turned out he had HPV. No sex for me.
        2a.  Got my first of three Gardasil shots. I figured I was single again, so better safe than sorry.

3. Entered a courtroom married. Sat in the big chair next to the judge. Left the courtroom divorced.
         3a.  Started this blog the night before. Yay!

4. Interviewed realtors and then put our condo on the market in February. We thought it would sell in a month. We were wrong.
         4a.  This kicked off a streak of making my bed everyday for six months. I hadn’t done that since I lived under my parents’ roof.

5. Met a more adorable than obnoxious 25-year-old (who would become The 26-Year-Old) who thought I was sexy. Who, me? Hello, ego boost!

6. Bought condoms for the first time since Max and I first started dating. Put said condoms into the inside pocket of every purse I have. In the words of Pretty Woman, I'm a safety girl!

7. Formed a booty call relationship with the 26-Year-Old and had my first orgasm since Max stopped touching me. We hooked up here and there throughout the year (but no sex).

8. For the first time in a decade, I bought a pretty glass bowl and some pot, which I kept hidden in my night table drawer. My rule-following roommate/ex-husband would’ve been none-to-happy if he’d known about it!

9. Selected a wonderful vibrator and discovered the joy of masturbation. This toy is also stored in my night table drawer – they don’t call it a goodie drawer for nothing!

I absolutely love my I'm Married To Me ring.

10. Sold my engagement ring and bought my right hand ring. I've been wearing my new ring for nine months and that ring still fills me with pride and strength.

11. Went to Disney World with my parents, sister, and her two kids. Disney World is the happiest place on earth.

12. Went to Nora’s and Lillian’s weddings back-to-back weekends. I hadn’t gone to a wedding single since 2004. And you know what? I still had fun at both weddings (and, fine, a little crying in the bathrooms too).

13. Slept with someone’s boyfriend. Not my classiest move, but I FINALLY broke my three-year streak of zero sex! But no more getting frisky with a guy I know is taken.

14. Reconnected with Todd. Made out with him on July 4. Thought something would start up with him. I was wrong.

15. Signed up for OKCupid and went on some dates. I had never done online dating before, and I found it to be pretty fun.

16. Went to my first country show -- Miranda Lambert and Dierks Bentley! My two girlfriends and I set up an amazing tailgate and sneaked booze into the amphitheater. Awesome way to spend a summer night.

17. Met Jason, AKA The Incredible Sex. We would date for two months. I adored his openness, intensity, and skills in the sack. I couldn’t stand that he smoked, was irresponsible, less educated than me and my friends, and generally self-centered. Yeah, not exactly my best match, but it was a ton of fun until he told me he loved me and messed it all up!

18. After multiple price drops and tons of frustration, we sold our condo in August. From the verbal offer to closing, the process took not even three weeks. Thank you, cash offer. My verdict on home ownership: it sucked!

19. After being in separate bedrooms for almost a year, Max and I moved into our respective apartments. After living with him for six years, I’m still not totally used to NOT living with him.

20. Had a wonderful night out with my friends for my Divorce Party (but I didn’t call it a "divorce party").

21. Ran my first half marathon on a gorgeous autumn day. It was a wonderful experience and I can’t wait to do another!

22. Survived my first wedding anniversary as a divorcee with a Me Day.

23. Traveled to Cancun with Sue and two other college friends for a week of reading, sleeping, drinking, and eating. I hadn’t been someplace tropical since my honeymoon in 2009.

"Kat, I'm honored to be your secret boyfriend.
Hey baby, let's drop it to the floor."

24. Sat for a family portrait, which meant three married couples... and me. I’m so glad we did it, but it further reminds me that my stupid biological clock is ticking. Will I ever get married again and have kids? Time will tell…

25. Hosted my first party all by myself. I’d always wanted to host a Christmas party, but Max wasn’t one for hosting. And my Christmas brunch was great, if I do say so!

26. Dyed pink streaks into my hair. Because I wanted to, because I can, and because no one can tell me not to!

27. Saw Pitbull, my secret boyfriend, in concert. The night before my 34th birthday, Yoshi took me -- what a great birthday present. (Pitbull is my secret boyfriend because he doesn’t know he’s my boyfriend and I’m going to have his rapper babies.)

How can my 34th year top all of this? What are your predictions for my 34th year? 

Dad and the Day My Marriage Died

“Kat, divorce papers. Now.”

Dad and me on a bad hair day in NYC.
I'll never be too old to hold his hand.

These words my dad said to me still ring in my ears.

Let's go back to the month that I stayed with Sue in August 2012. Before I left, I clearly told Max that I was out of ideas and this was the last straw. I told him we should take this time to figure out what each of us wanted.

“But if you want to talk to me, see me, whatever, feel free to contact me however you want,” I told Max.

“You can contact me too, you know,” he said huffily.

“No,” I replied, looking straight into his brown eyes. “The point of me leaving is for you to come to me. If you want to see me, you come to me.”

To that I got the usual reply: silence.

When Max dropped me off at the train station, I was nearly hysterical. I lugged my huge suitcase up the stairs and onto the train, never taking off my sunglasses. Tears streamed down my face as I rode the train into Manhattan. I couldn’t believe he let me go.

I spent the first week checking my phone constantly. Surely Max was lonely. Surely he would email or text or something. He worked near Manhattan for God's sake, so surely he would come to his senses and ask to see me one evening.

Like my husband, my phone remained infuriatingly silent.

By the second week, I tried to stop checking my phone so much. I kept up with my work, and miraculously, no one at work except my manager had any clue what was going on with me. I was going to yoga and eating healthy and trying not to booze too much. But still, I prayed that Max would send me flowers, or serve me divorce papers, or show up and fuck me passionately up against a wall, or confess that he was having a lascivious affair with a transvestite. I mean, seriously, SOMETHING was better than silence.

By the third week, I started to face facts: Max wasn’t coming to get me. Looming on my calendar was my cousin’s wedding the following weekend (wonderful timing). I had previously given Max plenty of opportunities to decline. He had insisted that he would attend. So now here I was, days away from the wedding and I hadn’t heard a word from my husband in weeks. I sucked it up and emailed him to ask if he would be coming to the wedding. He wrote back, “I think it would be kind of weird for me to go.”

True? Of course. Cowardly and pathetic to email me? Absolutely.

I called Max immediately and after years of being calm and even keeled, I finally lost my shit on him. I couldn’t believe how the past three weeks had gone. He had hurt me, but worse, now he’d disappointed me. Max would take a bullet for me, but he wouldn’t (couldn’t?) fight for our marriage. I cried, I shouted. I hung up the phone and cried in a way I’ve rarely cried in my otherwise charmed life. It was like the pain of the previous weeks at Sue’s, plus the moment he told me he wasn’t attracted to me, plus the previous six years of rejection exploded out my tear ducts. After a few minutes of hoping Max would call me back to apologize and say he would do anything to keep me, I gave up and called home.

My dad answered the phone and I word vomited all over him between sobs. I was heartbroken that Max wasn’t coming for me. I was embarrassed that this wedding was going to be the start of going to family functions alone – the only single one. I was incredulous and disgusted that I’d let things get so out of hand in my marriage that things were now this fucked up. Finally, I paused for breath.

You know how sometimes you need someone to state the obvious in just the right way for you to finally get it? That was Dad in that pivotal moment in my marriage and life.

He firmly said, “Kat, divorce papers. Now. He is screwed up and he is never going to get better. I know you love him, but you’ve done absolutely everything you can. Enough is enough. You have to get away from him, and you have to do it now.”

Harsh? Perhaps. Necessary? Absolutely.

If he’d said it a few weeks sooner, I would’ve said there was no way in hell. (I was still saying, “Divorce is not an option.”) If Mom had answered the phone, she would’ve ended up crying right along with me. It was time for Dad to do the Dad thing and offer a solution.

He said he would call my aunt and tell her that I would be attending solo but for her to not tell anyone why. Next, he was going to make a few phone calls to get the names of some lawyers. Finally, he told me he and Mom loved me.

I’ve never asked him, but that moment must have been one of the hardest parenting moments for Dad. I mean, Dad was overjoyed when Max showed up on the front doorstep one night with an engagement ring in hand, coming to ask Dad for permission to marry me. On my rainy wedding day, I sat between my parents as we rode to the church, Dad holding my left hand and Mom holding my right. They walked me down the aisle together, each of them smiling ear to ear. My conservative, Catholic father put aside any ideas, beliefs, or visions for me and held up a mirror in front of my face. For the first time in my life, Dad told me it was time to give up.  

And I did. I have no regrets.

Did your parents or other family members support the decision to divorce?

8 Tips to be A Kickass Friend to a Divorcee

A friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.
-Anais Nin

I must have been an amazing friend the past 25 years or so. Like, someone give me a medal and throw me a parade kind of amazing. That’s my best guess as to how I’ve been so blessed with the company I keep.

After reading Confessions of a Serial Dater’s blog about the importance of positive friends, I immediately thought about my girlfriends. I always knew I had terrific friends, but over the past year, they’ve really proven themselves.

Here are eight ways that that my friends have been awesome to me as I’ve dealt with the end of my marriage:

1. Don’t judge. My divorced readers know how anxiety-inducing it is find out people’s reactions to the D-word (especially after just three years of marriage). I’m sure some of my friends think I was out of my mind for staying in a sexless relationship for so long, but no one made me feel foolish. Instead, they seemed to actually admire me for trying so hard to make my marriage work. 
2. Don’t badmouth the ex (unless he/she really deserves it). No one has been unkind about Max. Not one of my girlfriends said they never liked him anyway. For one thing, that’s irrelevant. For another thing, that would still upset me because it’s not like he betrayed me in some way. I appreciate that my friends followed my lead on this one.
3. Offer your home as a place to escape to. My local friends have been generous about inviting me into their homes, whether welcoming me for dinner or for an entire month while Max and I sorted ourselves out. (Yes, I stayed with a friend for an entire month!) I often declined the invitations (for example, several friends offered the keys to their home while they were on vacation), but it meant so much that they loved and trusted me.
4. Don’t force your friend to talk (even if you’re itching for the details). Leading up to the divorce, was very tight-lipped. Since I filed, I became much more open. All the while, if I wanted to talk, my friends were there (and by “there” I am including in person, phone, text, IM, email, and Skype/FaceTime). And if I didn't want to talk, they gave me my space.
5. Surprise her. For my 33^rd birthday (which fell halfway into my divorce waiting period), two of my best friends coordinated a surprise for me. Ali came from out of state with Broadway tickets in hand. I thought that was the surprise, and obviously I was thrilled. Turns out she and Sue had also coordinated a birthday dinner that included Lillian, Jen, Nora, and Celine (a high school friend). They had all traveled from the suburbs into New York City for it. On a rainy night. The night after Christmas! I couldn’t believe it.
   

   

   I <3 Haribo.

   But it wasn’t just my local friends who have stepped up. One of my best friends lives in Germany. For no particular reason, she sent me a care package with a snuggly shirt and Haribo gummy candies. I was so touched that she made that effort from across the ocean to make me smile.
6. Hang out. I’ve heard tales of divorcees getting dumped by some friends. This hasn’t been true for me at all. My friends and their spouses have stayed my friends and still invited me to stuff. They don’t seem to think that divorce is contagious either. (I probably wasn't always super fun to hang out with either. Props to them for still asking me to do stuff.)
7. Bring booze. My friends were always willing to crack open a bottle of wine with me, which sometimes meant me ending up crying and talking endlessly about my divorce. Sorry girls!
8. Hug. Even though Max and I didn’t have sex, we did hug and hold hands and snuggle on the couch. Once our relationship was over, I was and am so deprived of physical contact. My girlfriends have been so sweet about doling out the hugs. More than ever, I need them.

I reference The Golden Girls as often as possible.
Yup, my friends like me anyway.

(Feel free to share this list with anyone who needs some pointers on how to be awesome.)

To all of my wonderful girlfriends, Thank You For Being A Friend. You have exemplified what it means to really love a friend through good times and bad.

How did your friends respond to your divorce? Have they been a source of support? Have any of your friends disappointed you?

See also: Why There's No Joint Custody of Friends After Divorce; The 8 Types of Friends You Need During Divorce; 9 Things a True Friend Would Never Do.

From Engagement to Divorce: A Tale of 3 Therapists

What would a woman’s blog about divorce be without bringing up therapy? So let’s do it!

The therapy story began a few months after Max and I got engaged, back in 2008. We had gone away for a weekend to a wedding and stayed in this beautiful, romantic inn. I brought lingerie. Max and I tried to be intimate, and as usual, we were unsuccessful. Max’s disinterest and the resulting frustration was obvious. For whatever reason, that particular night the fork in the road that led to Therapy Lane.

I knew Max wouldn’t agree to just go to a therapist right off the bat, so I suggested that we have him see a doctor first. We first went to a urologist that specialized in sexual dysfunction. After a battery of tests, we found that there was nothing physical causing Max's lack of libido. The doctor prescribed Cialis and told Max to go have sex with me.

Yeah, OK, then. It’s just that easy.

Cialis, Levitra, Viagra, pick your ED drug of choice. But here’s the thing about physical intimacy: it really is mind over matter. If he didn't WANT to be sexual, he can pop all the pills in the world and it wouldn't make him want to screw his loving, eternally patient, eternally horny wife-to-be. The problem was more about the lack of passion for me than the state of his penis.

Therapist 1 -- The Nurturer

So, we went to Therapist 1 (a psychotherapist out of our insurance network), who was recommended by the urologist. We saw her together and separately. What I liked about her approach is that she gave us homework to try to help us rediscover each other. We started experimenting with massage and showering together. We did some journaling to go along with it. It seemed like it was starting to help, and I was cautiously optimistic.

Then, Max got a new job that required him to go out of state for training for almost five months. I was heartbroken because I’d miss him, but I was also terrified that we’d lose all the progress we made. He assured me that wouldn’t happen. (We all know how that went.) We went on a therapy hiatus.

He returned from training in August 2009 and we got married in October. A year later, Max fell in to a dark depression. He slowly walked around listless and nearly silent. He wouldn’t touch me (we’re talking even hand holding) and sometimes he couldn’t even look at me. One time he told me he was sorry he married me; I thought it was because he didn’t love me anymore when it was actually because he didn’t love himself and therefore felt unworthy of my love. I couldn’t say it out loud at the time, but I lived in constant fear that I was going to come home to find him dead in the bedroom. That period ranks up there with my mom’s stage 4 cancer diagnosis as one of the most frightening and heart wrenching time in my life.

To Max’s credit, he agreed to go back to our therapist. She couldn’t get him to try antidepressants, but he did talk therapy and got to the other side after about six harrowing months.

Once Max had moved past the depression, we tried to readdress our intimacy problems with the therapist and I could sense she was running out of ideas for us (particularly Max). I decided it was time to try a new therapist for a fresh perspective – and one in our insurance network.

Even after we stopped seeing her, she emailed me twice just to say she was thinking of us and hoped we were OK. I emailed her after I'd filed divorce to let her know. She really cared.

Therapist 2 - The Tough Love Deliverer / Judgmental Asshole

So on to Therapist 2 (a Jungian psychotherapist in our insurance network). He was very different in his approach with us, and he pushed us harder. In private sessions with me, he urged me to face that I was not OK with my marriage. Zero passion and sexuality was not acceptable to me, and I had the right to find that unacceptable. He probably wasn’t entirely professional when he would point out that my husband could likely live forever with things the way they were. Therapist 2 put the thought in my head and courage in my heart that I had to stop treating Max with kid gloves and get the damn truth out of him once and for all.

That’s when I finally got Max to tell me that he wasn’t attracted to me. (He wasn’t attracted to anyone, period.) The oddest thing about that life changing moment was that Max delivered the news as if it weren’t THAT big of a deal. I guess since he’d lived with his truth for so long, he was out of touch with how devastating it would be for me.

A few weeks later, we went to the therapist together and it was emotional chaos. I was sobbing starting the moment we walked in the door. I asked Max if he wanted a D-word. Max was shocked. (Seriously?!) And during the course of this tumultuous session, the therapist said that our marriage was a mistake. It was probably one of the most offensive things anyone has ever said to me. I fiercely told him that I would never consider my marriage a mistake and despite Max being totally shell-shocked through the session, he adamantly agreed with me.

We walked out of the session and held each other in the hallway while I continued to sob. I can’t speak for Max, but I knew that things would never be the same after that session. We never went back to a therapist together.

While I’m grateful that that Therapist 2 pushed me to get the answer that I had to hear, I also feel: FUCK HIM. He repeatedly made me feel judged, like I was a fool for sticking around this screwed up marriage with this screwed up spouse. Don’t you PAY a therapist to listen to your shit and not judge you?!

Anyway, I filed for divorce four months later. Six weeks after I filed, I sought out a therapist who specialized in women’s issues and stress management. Yup, so now I’m on to Therapist 3 in four years.

Therapist 3 - The Perspective Provider

I’ve been going to Therapist 3 (a clinical social worker in network) for six months now, and it’s been hugely helpful. When I started seeing her, she asked what my goals were. No one told me I’d have homework, so I didn’t know how to answer that. We uncovered that I was looking to continue sorting my sadness and anger and love for Max, and then not repeat past mistakes as I look to future relationships. There have been several “ah ha!” moments where I truly feel like I’m understanding myself post-divorce on a level I would never have achieved on my own. And did I mention she’s covered by my insurance plan so I only pay a $15 copay?! For the cost of one bottle of wine, I get to talk about myself for an hour and not worry if I’m dominating the conversation. That’s the beauty of therapy: you pay to dominate the conversation.

So that is the story of my marriage, divorce, and aftermath via my therapists. Have you gone to therapy or counseling for your relationship? Did it help?

Related reading: How to Pick a Therapist; Depression in Men: How to Recognize It and What to Do; How to Support a Loved One Who is Dealing With Depression.

My Weekend in a Time Machine

I’ve heard that when people go through a divorce, they might make some interesting choices to put distance between themselves and the defunct relationship. Some might chop off or dye their hair. Some might gain or lose a ton of weight. Others regress and start acting like teenagers or whatever.


Judging from my weekend, I seem to have creeped into the regression category. I indulged in two things that I haven’t been able to enjoy in years.

1.  Getting high.

Back in high school and college, I smoked pot. OK, fine, I was a pothead. I LOVED it. But once I was done with school and became a grownup, I was kind of over it and rarely touched it anymore. Then, when I turned 25, I started dating Max. For better or for worse, Max is a major rule follower. I mean, jaywalking is a big deal for him. He didn’t drink alcohol until his 21st birthday. Needless to say, my pot smoking days were completely over. (And really, it was fine.)

2. Having an orgasm.

A huge reason why my marriage ended was due to sex. Specifically, we weren’t having any. Max is a great guy, and no sex life meant we became buddies, the best of friends. But, that is not enough to sustain any romantic relationship.

I was completely faithful to Max, which means that orgasms have been devastatingly absent from my life since George W. Bush was president. Now that I’m single again, I’m DYING to hit the sheets, but I’ve promised myself to wait until I’m in a committed relationship. Because, you know, I like to torture myself. Me and my damn morals! [A few weeks later, I bought a vibrator. Why didn't I do that sooner?!]

Backstory – shared.

Now, let’s return to my weekend.

My friend Nora and I decided to have a girls’ weekend. She was stressed from wedding planning and I was stressed from divorce planning, so what heals better than wine, pizza, and reruns of Beverly Hills 90210? How about some pot? Turns out that, yup, that helps. I had even purchased a glass pipe for the occasion. (I used to have a collection of paraphernalia, but that’s all been long since retired.)

Friday night, for the first time in years, we smoked up then giggled endlessly and got the munchies. Our conversation ranged from super serious and deep (though quite possible we made no sense) to utter silliness. It was so much fun to feel that light and carefree. We felt like we were 20 years old, and I guess that was part of the point of the experience.

Saturday night, after going to a fancy dinner and enjoying  multiple glasses of wine, we decided on our walk home that we wanted more pot. So where did we smoke? IN MY [parked] CAR, just like I used to do in high school. I felt like I was going to get grounded!

While Nora and I were being 33-year-old versions of our 20-year-old selves, I was getting text messages from a 25-year-old guy. This kid saw me at a bar a few months ago and has been hung up on me ever since. I’m no supermodel, but this kid sure seems to think I am the hottest thing ever, so far be it from me to correct him. In the brief time I've known the 25-Year-Old, I’ve learned two things from him:

1. 25-year-olds love to whine via text (e.g., "whyyyyyyy," "shuckssss"), and
2. 25-year-olds are otherwise exactly the same as they were eight years ago.

Anyway, he asked me to “watch a movie” on Sunday. (Yes, folks, “watch a movie.” Did I not just say that 25-year-olds are exactly the same as they were in 2005?)

I thought, Kat, do you really want to “watch a movie” with him? At his house? That he shares with two other guys? (Ugh, and really, not one but TWO roommates?!) How sketchy. How 2003 of you.

After all this careful consideration, how did I reply after four glasses of wine? "That should work."

Sunday night, I went over to his house and we watched that movie. I’m pleased to have finally orgasmed under the Obama administration (within the confines of the promise I made to myself). Well done, 25-Year-Old!

What a weekend of tapping back into my pre-Max self! It was fun for a temporary regression.

What unusual or even kinda crazy choices did you make after your divorce? No judgment from me!