Divorcing During a Pandemic: 0/10, Do Not Recommend

Exactly six years ago, I did something both terrifying and necessary: I initiated my divorce.

At the time, I had no idea that a global pandemic was waiting just around the corner.

I filed in January of 2020. Two months later, COVID arrived, and suddenly I wasn’t just navigating the end of a 23-year marriage—I was doing it in the middle of a worldwide shutdown.

Because apparently, going through one life-altering event at a time was simply too much to ask.

I had decided to remain in the marital home until I found a place of my own. What I didn’t know was that I was about to begin the Olympic sport known as Divorcing During a Global Pandemic.

Home shopping was difficult. Furniture shopping was nearly impossible. But neither compared to the true challenge of 2020: finding toilet paper.

I spent months racing from store to store like a masked superhero whose only superpower was locating Charmin. By day, I was trying to build a new life. By night, I was Googling, “Does anyone know where to buy paper towels?”

Then came my birthday.

The day I will never forget.

It was the exact day the governor announced that everyone should shelter in place.

The only problem? My home was Divorce Ground Zero.

So, naturally, I grabbed my emotional baggage (which weighed considerably more than my suitcase) and headed to my mom’s house.

Poor Mom.

She became the captive audience for my one-woman theatrical production titled Life Is Unfair and Here’s Why. Night after night, I performed dramatic monologues detailing every injustice, disappointment, and frustration. Looking back, I probably owed her tickets and an intermission.

Many nights I stayed with her. Every morning she made breakfast, and somehow eggs, toast, and a mother’s love made everything feel a little less impossible.

Back at home, I learned to create space for myself wherever I could find it.

I completely flipped my schedule and became a night owl because nighttime brought something precious: silence.

There was music—lots of music. Dance music, specifically. Loud enough to prompt texts reminding me to “please turn it down.”

I complied.

Sort of.

I turned it down approximately two notches and kept the party going.

I took long showers until my fingers resembled raisins. I climbed into bed and talked to friends until I drifted off to sleep mid-conversation. Those phone calls became lifelines.

Like many people during COVID, I also discovered walking.

Actually, I became professionally committed to walking.

Being outside gave me room to breathe, think, cry, process, and occasionally laugh at the absurdity of my circumstances. I walked twice a day and, within a few months, lost thirty pounds.

More importantly, I found my voice.

With friends on the other end of the phone, I learned to say what I was feeling instead of swallowing it. I learned that humor could coexist with heartbreak. Some days, laughing at the chaos was the only thing that made it bearable.

By summer, existing under the same roof had become increasingly challenging.

The kids, desperate for entertainment during lockdown, set up a tent in the house. Unfortunately, the indoor camping adventure made watching television nearly impossible, so eventually the tent migrated outside.

And then inspiration struck.

The kids abandoned the tent.

I moved in.

Just like that, my backyard “she shed” was born.

I stocked it with snacks, wine, music, a fan, and absolutely no people asking me where things were.

It was glorious.

Sometimes I read. Sometimes I journaled about what I wanted my new life to look and feel like. I dreamed about the kind of home I would create, the peace I wanted to experience, and the woman I was becoming. Sometimes I napped. It became my sanctuary—a tiny canvas refuge in the middle of enormous life changes.

That season was incredibly difficult, but it was also transformative.

Looking back, I realize it wasn’t the hard circumstances that defined me. It was what I chose to do inside those circumstances.

I adapted.

I found humor.

I created joy where I could.

I survived.

And in surviving, I discovered resilience I didn’t know I possessed.

Life has a funny way of shaking us awake. While we rarely welcome the disruption, those seasons often reveal who we are and what we’re capable of becoming.

Turns out, even in the middle of divorce and a pandemic, you can still dance in your kitchen, laugh with friends, drink wine in a tent, journal about your dreams, and begin building a beautiful new life.

Regina H.