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I began 2017 as a divorced woman. A divorced mom. I received the final divorce notification on New Year’s Eve telling me that my marriage had been legally dissolved.

I always thought I’d be one of those people to throw myself a Divorce Party. Mars and I had an amicable separation and divorce. It was relatively painless and attorney-free. We agreed on everything because we kept the best interest of the kids at heart. But when the time arrived, I didn’t feel like celebrating. Maybe if kids weren’t involved, or if they were much older. Not at ages 8 and 12.

They are shuffled between two homes and two parents. It felt inappropriate. It felt insensitive.

My kids – the loves of my life – are a product of my marriage. I have no regrets. I would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

I married a great guy. (I am a good judge of character.) He is a good friend and is and always will be family. I can’t imagine it any other way and am glad I don’t have to.

More importantly, he’s a great father. My kids are lucky.

Sometimes I feel guilty for my failed marriage. We didn’t have any deal breakers like infidelity, abuse, or addiction. There was no drama. There is no interesting backstory. We simply weren’t happy.

Sometimes no amount of work can repair years of neglect. Sometimes “where there’s a will, there’s a way” just isn’t true. Our marriage didn’t fail for lack of trying. Four years of marriage counseling didn’t save us.

Sometimes you have to know when to cut your losses and move on. We chose to embrace the hope of happiness.

I don’t regret the divorce. Sure, it makes me sad and the financial repercussions have been devastating, but I can honestly say that we tried our best. I can’t ask for more than that.

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