The Beauty of Divorce

In which it becomes clear that I really like to be in control and that I wish everyone saw the error of my Ex's ways.

When I was first separated, my ex-husband and I met with a clinical social worker hoping for direction on how to discuss the upcoming changes in our relationship to our daughter. She was a small woman with big hair and fine creases in the corners of eyes that showed her experience, not her age.

She used her face in her work. A curl on both sides of her mouth to express assurance. A divot between her eyebrows to express concern. A scrunch of it all to express doubt. As her face emoted, she delivered her guidance in small packages of words. I imagined them coming neatly wrapped in brown parcel paper and string just like my dad’s shirts were returned when we lived above a laundry service run by a Chinese family who gave my brother and me each one silver dollar in a red envelope every Chinese New Year.

I was immediately comforted by her tact. Where I am in the clouds reading aloud from a seventeen chapter, heavily footnoted backstory, she was direct, concise and no nonsense.

Use as few wo…