Memoire of a divorcée

I was divorced in January 1971, almost 26 years ago. Both my ex and I have gone on to live the lives we were meant to live. I would have hated to stay trapped in Reading, he would have hated living in Europe. Although the divorce wasn’t my idea, I am grateful to him for giving me the freedom that I didn’t know I wanted until after I had it.

Still the day of my divorce and those painful months came back with a whap when once again I had to produce my divorce papers for the Swiss authorities. Now I understand they need to know my marital status for various official things because it affects what they do and have to pay or not pay, who might be entitled to live in the country.

And it was not a reliving of pain that happens each time I bring the papers out, but the memory of pain, which is far different combined with more than a dollop of gratitude that it is over. Someone once said, you truly never divorce. They are right. My ex was a major part of my life for 12 years, we have a daughter. I don’t want to erase those years and I am happy to have had them as a learning tool to that led me into the next stages of my life.