A Letter To My Friend, The Divorced Military Spouse

“Divorce.” You barely whispered it. “I’m getting a divorce.” You hadn’t slept, that much was clear. Your hair hung about your face as wild and limp as the fronds of a weeping willow tree. Weeping -- you’d been doing that, too. Old tears marked your face. Your voice cracked. At that moment , you were broken. We became friends quickly, you and I. It was kind of inevitable: Two young, goofy, ambitious women who’d take turns to buy the coffee at work, chit-chatting about friends and Friday nights as we cleaned shelves at work. You lived for your workouts , your dogs, your jobs, and pink drinks on the weekends. You were newly twenty-two, existing out here in this nook of nowhere for your husband; one of us, the thousands of women who moved out to the “dirt,” in the name of love. It sounds so romantic. It was romantic, at first. You fell in love, and remained in love, even when his passion turned into anger and your young skin was smattered with black and blue. You married this man, this Marine, this monster, and you remained by his side because you wanted to help him, because you understood that marriage is selfless, and often flawed. You stayed, for months, even when you couldn't understand why he treated you like he did. We were aimlessly ticking tasks off the list at work when you chit-chatted your way into a confession. It was so minute, so offhand, but there is was: “He used to hit me. It hasn’t happened in a while.” I reeled, and stabbed a little too hard at a cardboard box. We shuffled on. I can’t recall what I said, just the egg in my throat, and the flutter of anger in my stomach. A few weeks later, it was out there. Divorce. “I’m filing for a divorce.” Your eyes were bloodshot, the remnant of sleepless nights, of emptied bank accounts, of beer-breath and screams. Months later, you remain. You wake each day, run a brush through your hair, and you get on with life. You stand tall, you plant one foot in front of the other, and you continue. You remain out here, your non-home, for work, for friends, for the fact you sculpted a life out of nothing in this pocket of California, three thousand miles from home. To some, the fact you remained is a surprise... ... to your friends, it’s a reminder of your resilience. You are amazing. Let me say this to you, from the bottom of my heart: Remember not to doubt yourself. I imagine -- no, I know -- that many people would hear of your young marriage , and your divorce, and jump to conclusions. The concept of military marriage is tarred with negativity, stained by tales of infidelity and “weakness.” Not you. Never, ever let go of the fact you did the right thing, that your ex-husband is slighted, but it is NOT YOU who lives with the consequence of your own wrong-doing. Remember that however hard it seems, you can get through this. Your marriage was faltering, and you kept on going. Your decision to leave left you crumpled, for a moment , but that’s all it is, in the grand scheme of life -- a moment, and you’ve moved past that . But then: As if letting go wasn’t painful enough , I know you have lost friends, heard rumors, and withstood tactless come-ons by other men. It has been a long, hard few months for you. It has been grueling, and you’ve learned that people are harsh, but still -- each day you wake up better, and before you know it, you will be happy again. You will. Remember that you have not failed. Your marriage may have ended, but it need not be considered a failure; you learned from it, you grew wiser from it, and you have attained a new level of perspective to take into the rest of your life. Y ou are bigger than your divorce. You are stronger than your divorce. You needn’t carry it like a scarlet letter around your neck, it needn’t weigh down your shoulders and follow in your shadow. You are intact. You are whole. You are complete. Your own existence is enough. Remember that your friends and family are proud of you. We are so proud. I have laughed with you, cried with you, talked you out of negativity and praised your good days. Just like the brotherhood of Marines, soldiers and sailors, the sisterhood of spouses is stronger than we realize. Wherever the world takes you next, the gossamer thread of our friendship will remain. Remember this, every day. Wake up and keep going. Keep going, keep going, keep going. Keep going in the knowledge that happy endings exist without a prince. Keep going because you are loved. Keep going because you, however many times you have felt broken, are whole. Connect with us on Facebook!

A Letter To My Friend, The Divorced Military Spouse

6 Laughable PCS Mistakes We’ve All Made

Fort Myers Nightclub Shooting: 2 Dead, at Least 14 Others Wounded

Fort Myers Nightclub Shooting: 2 Dead, at Least 14 Others Wounded

Latest

Let It Fall: You Don’t Owe Anyone a Highlight Reel

Things I Refuse to Start Over After This PCS

What Happens When Military Life Is Only One of the Lives You’re Managing

Somewhere They Know Your Name: The Unexpected Gift of Becoming a Regular

You Don’t Have to Feel Ready to Begin

You’re Doing the Dang Thing: Why Military Spouses Need to Celebrate All the Small Wins

In Case You Missed It

When Did Exhausted Become Normal? 10 Signs You’re Running on Fumes

You Probably Don’t Need a Bubble Bath: 4 Realistic Self-Care Ideas for Military Spouses

Four Months Left. But First…Be Honest With Yourself.

6 Non-Pumpkin-Spice-Related Human Needs to Meet for a More Intentional Fall Season

15 Veteran-Owned Coffee Companies Military Families Should Try

3 Ways Military Spouses Can Be Ready to Vote

Fall 2025

Employment

Family

Lifestyle