Divorce

You’re strolling down the street, engrossed in your iPhone, scanning messages, when you collide with someone equally distracted by their own screen. Both of you stammer apologies, each taking the blame for not watching where you were going. In the awkward exchange, you introduce yourselves, swapping names and sparking a light conversation about how the day’s been. You walk together for a few minutes, chatting about nothing in particular—weather, maybe, or a funny thing you saw online. Then, one of you musters the courage to suggest staying in touch. Not phone numbers—those feel too bold in this era of digital distance—but email addresses, a safer bet for texting later. Talking on the phone is passé; it’s all about quick messages now.

Through texts, a friendship blooms. You discover shared interests, laugh over the same memes, and soon, you’re planning a first date. The date goes well, and then another, and another. Months pass, and you’re convinced you’re perfect for each other, aligned in likes, dislikes, and dreams. You’re falling in love. A proposal follows, accepted with joy, and you set a wedding date, eager to begin a life together, bound by vows to stay united until death parts you.

The wedding is a dream—vows exchanged, promises made to stand by each other in sickness and health, wealth or poverty, forever. But then, you move in together, and reality settles in. Living alone, you only had to worry about yourself. You ate what you wanted, left dishes in the sink, and kept your space as you liked. Now, there’s another person to consider. You forget to save half the dinner, or you leave laundry scattered, and what seems minor to you feels like a slight to your partner. They start to wonder if you’re still the same person who bumped into them that day, if you care about the “us” as much as the “me.”

These small oversights pile up. One forgets to check in, the other feels ignored. Resentments grow, and suddenly, the harmony you imagined feels distant. For many, this is where the road forks toward divorce. It’s easier to walk away, to reclaim the independence of single life, than to stay and navigate the friction. Divorce is a clean break, a chance to start over without the daily compromises. But staying—honoring those vows through tough times—takes work. It demands a shift from “me” to “we,” a willingness to see your partner’s perspective, to value their feelings even when it’s inconvenient.

Marriage isn’t a fairy tale. It’s a commitment to weather the lows as well as the highs, to sacrifice sometimes for the sake of the relationship. You won’t always get your way, but in giving and taking, you grow closer, building toward the oneness that marriage promises. It’s not about perfection but persistence, about choosing each other even when it’s hard. The ups and downs are normal—every couple faces them. What matters is the effort to keep going, to talk through the hurts, to rebuild trust when it wanes.

But there’s a line. If the relationship turns toxic—if there’s abuse, physical or verbal—staying isn’t noble; it’s dangerous. No one should endure harm in the name of love. Everyone deserves respect, safety, a partnership that lifts them up. If you’re trapped in abuse, leaving isn’t failure; it’s survival. Knowing when to walk away is personal, a decision only you can make when you’ve had enough.

Sometimes, others need to step in, offering support to help you see what you can’t—that you’re worth more than the pain you’re enduring. There’s no shame in seeking help, in choosing divorce to reclaim your life.

For those whose marriages are rooted in love, not harm, the challenge is different. It’s about staying true to the vows you made, even when life tests you. Sickness comes, or money runs tight, or you disagree on something big. These are the moments that define a marriage, where commitment means showing up, listening, compromising. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it when both of you are trying, when you’re both invested in the same goal: a life built together.

No one enters marriage expecting divorce, but it happens when the work stops, when one or both stop choosing “us.” The person you bumped into on the street, the one you texted and dated and vowed to love forever—they’re still there, beneath the arguments and oversights. Reconnect with them. Talk, share, forgive. Remember why you said “I do.” If both of you keep showing up, keep giving, you can find your way back to each other.

Here’s to love that endures, to marriages that weather the storms. May you hold fast to your vows—in sickness, in health, for richer, for poorer—until death parts you. And may you find the strength to know when to fight for love and when to let go for your own sake.

Good luck.