When my girls were five and six, I looked at my friend’s life and observed (despite the divorced part) her life was kind of great. 50% of the time, she was free to be a real person, not entrenched in the roles of “mom” and a “wife.” Wrapped by a blanket of guilt, I felt mildly envious. I consoled myself by knowing that “at least my family is intact.”
Fast-forward 10 years. I’m divorced, and my teen daughters
divide their time between my house and their dad’s. I hadn’t seen that coming.
