I have no pithy or poignant start to this reflection. I tried to manufacture one but they all felt empty and forced. How to begin an essay that lets the world know I’ve gotten a divorce? No matter how I begin, once “divorce” appears on the screen, there won’t be attention for much else.

Among the many things we did over our summer vacation, separating and divorcing threaded itself among the usual players of weeks at camp, a beach trip, visits to friends and family, hours in the pool, and more. Somehow it seamlessly merged with the others naturally, as though it belonged there with the sunscreen and barbecue.

That’s not to say it has been easy. The end of any phase in life brings challenges and loss, no matter what comes after. The “sometime we will,” “that will be us one day,” and “that would be fun to do together;” those disappear, like specters releasing into vapor and drifting away as you watch. Intentions ride the tide away into the horizon to land on someone else’s shore far away and, though relief may follow, the pain remains.

Early in this journey I heard a helpful reflection on a podcast. A more attentive listener could tell you which podcast and possibly the episode. My mind does not hold details such as these so, my apologies. If it sounds familiar, feel free to post a comment on the blog or write to me to share the information I cannot.

Whatever the case, the hosts discussed the end of relationships and one of them said something along these lines:

“We think we have to be angry or resentful to justify the end of a relationship. We make up some story, manufacture some wrongdoing in order to make ourselves feel affirmed in wanting to leave but that doesn’t have to be the case. Sometimes relationships end – they change – and you don’t have to be angry or bitter or resentful. You can simply acknowledge that things aren’t as they once were and it’s time to move on.”

You don’t have to be angry.

I repeated this to myself over and over as the truth of the words resonated deep within me. I didn’t want to be angry. I didn’t want to be resentful. I wasn’t. To create some cause or blame, some grand scheme of fault and failure, not only would be a lie but would be a betrayal of the beauty of the relationship that had been. I didn’t want to come out the other end hating my ex-husband.

He’s a good man and a great father. He’s been a fine partner on this journey and together we created memories for our kids of love, acceptance, and adventure. Things didn’t fall apart because either of us are terrible people. In fact, things didn’t fall apart entirely; they morphed and evolved and shifted. And I’m not angry about it. Disappointed, yes, because I didn’t set out for this to be our story; but not angry.

Relationships change because people change. My parents, married 55 years this summer, say they are not the same people today they were the day they wed. For some couples, the changes sync and the relationship shifts but remains in current form. For others, two evolving identities take diverging paths and the time comes to drop hands and wave from different directions.

The result is not perfection and I hope it never is. I’m tired of perfection being the impossible measure of our lives. Instead, our family continues in a different form, one more authentic to who and where we are at this point in our lives. Healing remains to happen and grief takes time, but so do first steps into new realities and possibilities.

Farm life afforded the privilege of him moving next door, allowing our kids to flow back and forth between houses. We see each other almost daily and he takes two kids to school while I take the third. Daily texts and calls coordinate after school schedules, uniform and costume purchases, and weekend or overnight plans without any accompanying rank tang of resentment. We are family, it just takes a different form for us.

Please do not suffer under the misperception that anger hasn’t appeared. I can rage with the best of them without cause or justification. But when the temptation arrived to allow ire to increase, I heard the words in my mind, “You don’t have to be angry,” and remembered I had a choice. The anger served no god but my ego and she has enough, servants, thank you very much. I could turn my sights instead to the goodness that has been and the possibilities that lie ahead. I also trusted myself, my kids and my ex-husband in our collective resilience and love. We work hard to be loud, weird, open, authentic, and embracing in our family life and I pushed myself to trust that these would apply to my life-altering decisions as well.

You don’t have to be angry; you can choose something else.

This is not a reflection written on behalf of my ex-husband or my children. Their story belongs to them and they will share how and what they desire, if ever. But I can say that he and I have taken moments to say to each other how we’re proud of ourselves and our kids in all of this; to affirm that despite the rough and unexpected terrain, we’re navigating it as well as we can and doing it both apart and together.

You will notice my name change across social media and here on the blog. I don’t despise my married name because I do not despise the man who carries it. But it isn’t mine. Part of my ongoing internal work involves pulling out from under the expectations and arbitrary rules of “adulthood” the little girl inside of me who dreams of grandiose vistas. I am Mary Reynolds Hemmer, the seven, eight, and nine-year-old who knew she could become anything before understanding she shouldn’t. Slowly I fill boxes of “shoulds” that no longer apply to my life, if they ever did, and tell my younger self she can run free again.

I write this not only to update you on my life (and why the blog has been quiet for a few months) but also to share with you the wisdom that has carried me: You don’t have to be angry. You have a choice. You can accept things as they are, naming the truths before you and stepping into them without conjuring a demon to fight. Demons find free reign on their own, they need no help from us. Instead, measure the worth of the argument, the ire, and which god it serves. Choose your own way and let your own true self guide you.

As ever, I send you love and light, my friends.

Mary