Thank You, Divorce: The Exit That Opened Everything
- Nov 7
- 4 min read
By Sara-Ann Rosen
I always saw myself as a realist who didn't believe that love was a mystical panacea. But it's one thing to know that in a cool state of mind and another when you're in the throes of early passion. Brain chemistry blurs our vision and we convince ourselves that we’ll be the exception to the rule.
I did what I believed wise people do: I focused on values, morals, and shared interests. I avoided chasing the spark. What I missed—because it hid in plain sight—was an emotional pattern buried in my family history: a quiet, familiar ache of alienation. The men we chose carried unprocessed trauma from early family rifts that we mistook for stoic independence. Without realizing it, I kept finding that isolating ache again. It felt like “how love is.”
Four years into my marriage, my body told the truth before my brain did. After I reached out in a vulnerable moment and felt abandoned, a heavy pit formed in my stomach. I’d known that feeling before and talked myself out of it. This time, I listened.
First, I threw effort at the problem. I read articles and a few books. I got us into talk therapy, but in our case it only widened the commitment gap I already sensed. When he later shared that he’d blamed me for our problems for a long time, the pattern clicked into place. I had skipped the most important value of all: emotional intelligence. And I couldn’t outwork someone’s unwillingness.
Leaving wasn’t one dramatic leap. It was a series of steps. A part of me feared the finality and the pressure to start over. But staying was stifling. Divorce became a teacher I never asked for and, eventually, thanked—not because it was painless, but because it handed me data and dared me to use it.
I stopped asking, “Why didn’t this work?” and started asking, “Which skills were missing—and how do I learn them?” That question opened everything.
I jumped from law into a counseling psychology master’s program. I wanted language for what my nervous system had been flagging for years: safety matters; repair matters; patterns repeat until they’re examined. I treated reinvention like a research project. I applied for scholarships with the rigor I once reserved for legal briefs—and won six. Each “yes” reminded me that endings can support beginnings when we turn pain into purpose.
Friends asked for help with dating profiles and plans. I brought therapy-informed care and lawyerly analysis to the apps: decode the text and subtext; align actions with values; stop chasing and start choosing. I taught people to date like social scientists.
We did it together—women supporting women, a buddy system for dating. When people felt in control, they felt hopeful. When they felt hopeful, they had better dates.
I didn’t want a rebound life; I wanted an intentional one. I turned my kitchen-table coaching into Settling Up in Love Coaching—a place where women stop settling for the familiar that keeps them small and start choosing what’s nourishing and empowering. Clients come ready to trade checklists and vibes for values and skills. We build Love Maps, rehearse emotional regulation, and prioritized emotional availability. Taking the reins didn’t just pivot my career; it created a community where boundaries are invitations—and where choosing differently becomes contagious.
Here’s what reframing taught me:
Love requires a plan, not just passion. Conflict isn’t proof that love is failing; it’s proof that love needs skills. Avoiding disagreement early on often masquerades as compatibility and then starves intimacy and solidifies disconnection later.
Surface skills can’t fix a structural problem. “I” statements are useful; mutual commitment and repair are non-negotiable. Tools help. Alignment sustains.
Your body is data. The pit in my stomach wasn’t melodrama; it was a compass. When I treated it like information, my choices changed.
Reinvention is built, not bestowed. Apply for the thing. Ask for the support. Submit the scholarship. One step, then another.
Make it communal. Support steadied me—who held me accountable to the future I said I wanted.
The exit didn’t just end a relationship; it opened everything. It opened my schedule and reset my nervous system. It opened a door to a second graduate degree and six scholarships. It opened a mission that marries rigor with tenderness: help women stop settling, choose aligned love, and build lives that fit from the inside out. And yes, it opened my heart to people who meet me with care and repair.
I’m not grateful that it hurt. I’m grateful that I used the hurt as data. Gratitude lives in practical places now—calmer mornings, cleaner boundaries, a business that changes lives, and a sense of home that finally means soft, not small.
If you’re standing at your own threshold—staring down an ending you didn’t want or a beginning you didn’t plan—try this:
Two-column ledger: Staying Costs vs. Leaving Creates. Include time, money, energy, self-respect, opportunities, and community.
Mini Love Map: Name 3-5 values, 3-5 non-negotiables, 3-5 early warnings. Keep it visible. Choose accordingly.
One brave step: What is the smallest action that moves you toward the life that feels like home?
Thank you, divorce, for being the exit that opened everything—for ending what couldn’t hold me, funding a riskier truth, and handing me a map I now teach. I didn’t fail at marriage; I succeeded at learning and choosing myself.
Connect With Sara-Ann
Comments