Happily Divorced Quotes

Every cell in my body was telling me that he was my happily ever after.

I wanted to know what it felt like to be loved by the man of my dreams.

And they all lived happily ever after (barring death, divorce, arrest for tax fraud, that incident with the pool boy...)

Divorce = Rebirth: forget the past, replan your life, improve your appearance & REJUVENATE!

He was the one I compared all others to.

It was impossible not to fall in love with him.

It was as if we'd known each other for a thousand years.

His fingerprints covered my skin.

Choosing freedom over toxic familiarity would always be the correct choice.

I could live without chemistry but not without kindness.

Lighting the lamp is an art. A ritual. A discipline. Lighting the lamp became my anchor, and my focus, a deliberate act, and a resolution.

By writing what I was grateful for, I learned to look for things that made me smile.

The path of least resistance led to hibernation.

That first choice to leave an unhappy home had put me on a path strewn with more choices. Such was life. I had to accept it without looking for certainties.

Growing up is never easy. We think it happens when you reach a certain age, accomplish a goal, acquire a house, or reach a milestone, but it doesn’t stop.

We were living rather happily, to the rhythm of the sun. It was a simple life, but peaceful, without electricity or running water.

Some people are happily single. Some are unhappily married.

I decided to create a home from scratch, something that would reflect my tastes and preferences with a combination of objects and energy that would add up to a safe and inviting space for the people and experiences I wanted to welcome into my life.

Back therefore we find ourselves returning. Back to the wisdom of the plough; back to the wisdom of those who follow the sea. It is all a matter of the wheel coming full-circle. For the sophisticated system of mental reactions to which we finally give our adherence is only the intellectualised reproduction of what more happily constituted natures, without knowing what they possess, possess. Thus between true philosophers and the true simple people there is a magnetic understanding; whereas, the clever ones whose bastard culture only divorces them from the wisdom of the earth remain pilloried and paralysed on the prongs of their own conceit".

After one divorce and other on the way I am seriously considering a ME-rriage now and .t's going to be epic! I will ask my hand in meTRInomy, for it will become a trigamy. And me, my higher self and third I will live happily ever after life...We will live in threesomeness!

His first job was to find some rich lady’s pedigree Siamese cat. He managed to run it over on the way to see her. The second job was a divorce case – which you may think is run-of-the-mill until I tell you that the clients were perfectly happily married until he came along… There hadn’t been a third case.

All I could do was what I had done each morning for all these years. Light my lamp. Every Single. Day.

The longer you perform a ritual, the more power it garners - from the act, from the faith, from the feeling.

There is change, and there is transformation.

Nothing was permanent, even discontentment.

Instead of assembling the shattered pieces of my outer existence and inner reality into an incomprehensible structure, I learned to consciously create a new life.

It wasn’t that difficult to cook. Or to eat well. The key was to do it with love, for myself and for my family.

The worst thing about your life falling apart is that the world takes no notice.

Everything you do does not need to have a practical use; it’s important to make space for beauty.

It felt important to acknowledge our small successes, to stop and observe the tiny pockets of sunshine that broke up the boredom of our monochrome days and made us smile.

Nourishment comes in many forms. So does happiness.

My writing time had been my personal oasis. A small respite each night, a private space to muse and vent. It was a restorative act, not a performative one.

For all my talk of emancipation, I had fallen into the trap of caring deeply about “what will people say,” having internalized the cultural taboo of divorce.

To gain confidence, to put myself firmly on a path to independence, I needed to practice making small choices. I decided to begin by making this cavernous house into a cozy home.

Moving on means getting back on track to align with the opposite of what turned you off.

People are attracted to those who fully live life without excuses.

What do you do when you know that staying together is not easy and breaking up is even more difficult?

Sometimes, wishes come true in strange ways.

It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by angels or by demons, heaven or hell. —Siddhartha Buddha,

Who knows what goes on in a marriage? Even my parents, who had a compatible marriage, had their points of contention. They had figured out how to disagree and how to find common ground.

Court for money, and you will live superficially. Court for virtue, and you will live prudently. Court for fame, and you will live insincerely. Court for love, and you will live joyously. Marry for money, and you will live lavishly. Marry for virtue, and you will live honorably. Marry for fame, and you will live prominently. Marry for love, and you will live happily. Divorce for money, and you will live poorly. Divorce for virtue, and you will live peacefully. Divorce for fame, and you will live miserably. Divorce for love, and you will live tragically.

From measuring my life in terms of milestones, I now tried to measure it in moments—those small pockets of time that float with great radiance even though they are embedded in the minutiae of life.

The image of woman as mother is universal, not specific to any culture. But in India, that image is elevated to iconic status by a society that puts marriage and motherhood at the core of a woman’s existence.

Music connected me with something outside myself, even if only for a moment. For that moment, it held my fears at bay and with each passing day, helped me climb up from the dark pit that had once seemed bottomless.

As Kierkegaard wrote: 'Repetition is a beloved wife of whom one never tires'. This sentence is misunderstood by almost everyone. On the basis of this misunderstanding, it is either confirmed (by those who are happily married) or criticised (by those who are happily divorced). When you read the expression, it is easy to interpret it as follows: 'The beloved wife/husband is a repetition of whom one never tires/ However, for Freud and Kierkegaard, the repetition is central, the repetition on the basis of which a partner is ascribed a particular place, and not vice versa. At the same time, repetition then had a different meaning. Nowadays, repetition has become almost synonymous with boredom. One only has to think of a children's game that is endlessly repeated and yet gives pleasure every time, in contrast with the blase adult who always wants something new, something different, something that might still rouse him from the lethargy of excess.

It took more than motherhood to move me toward meditation. I first had to lose things—my mother, my marriage, my cynicism. I had to make life-changing decisions. Yet I moved, step by step, into the unknown inner world. Hesitatingly. Skeptically. Slowly.

An empty room can be an instrument for introspection. It was a reflection of the void created by the decision to distance myself from a relationship that had defined me to others and to myself. If I was not a wife, who was I? I was removing a label that marked my place in a social system, but was I still “me” without that label?

Ha!” Baba said. “You think you’re going to feel better if you leave? You think you’re going to live happily ever after? That’s the bullshit this country tries to feed you. Why do you think half of them are divorced?” She opened her mouth to respond, but Baba cut her off. “You’re a mother. Your children come first. What about your daughters?

Changing my narrative from one of complaint and dissatisfaction to a more positive one changed my mood, but it didn’t change all the other negatives that had tipped the balance of our marital life into dysfunction. Memories of good times were a reminder that life cannot be measured in purely black and white terms. The good and bad coexist in a tenuous equilibrium that is always in flux.

The Devil and his angels have... persuad[ed]... humans that a curious, and usually short-lived, experience which they call "being in love" is the only respectable ground for marriage; that marriage can, and ought to, render this excitement permanent; and that a marriage which does not do so is no longer binding. This idea [comes from their] parody of an idea that came from [God]... Things are to be many, yet somehow also one. The good of one self is to be the good of another. This... He calls Love, and this... can be detected under all He does and even all He is... He introduces into matter... the organism, in which the parts are [set at odds with] their natural destiny of competition and made to cooperate... In... humans [God] has... associated affection between the parties with sexual desire. He has also made the offspring dependent on the parents and given the parents an impulse to support it-thus producing the Family, which is like the organism, [but] the members are more distinct, yet also united in a more conscious and responsible way... [Heavenly Father] described a married couple as "one flesh." He did not say "a happily married couple" or "a couple who married because they were in love"...

The thing about marriages, bad ones especially, is the utter disregard with which the couple and those around them treat the cracks when they first emerge. Like tectonic plates that crush and grind against each other under the surface of the earth, the damage does not happen on one sunny morning when the earthquake hits. When a couple splits, it is the result of an inevitable break that has been brewing for years without respite.

In the twentieth century, it was tempting to minimize the effects of divorce. Some adults in unhappy marriages imagined trickle-down happiness: They would be happier after divorce; therefore, so would their kids. But as these kids matured, “the unexpected legacy of divorce” was undeniable. Many children of divorce said they had not much noticed—or cared—whether their parents were happily married. What they did know was that their lives fell apart after their parents split, as resources and parents became stretched too thin.

One of the few stable statistics in our fast-changing world is our rate of divorce, which has hovered between 40 and 50 percent for the last thirty years. Any two people who marry face a grim 50 to 60 percent chance of survival. And if that weren’t sobering enough, one needs to ask further: Of those who remain together, how many do so happily, as opposed to those who stay for external reasons, like their children, finances, religion, or fatigue? Conservatively, we can estimate that at least one out of three, perhaps one out of two, of those couples left standing do not relish their lives together.

When we get down to potential versus reality in relationships, we often see disappointment, not successful achievement. In the Church, if someone creates nuclear fallout in a calling, they are often released or reassigned quickly. Unfortunately, we do not have that luxury when we marry. So many of us have experienced this sad realization in the first weeks of our marriages. For example, we realized that our partner was not going to live up to his/her potential and give generously to the partnership. While fighting the mounting feelings of betrayal, we watched our new spouses claim a right to behave any way they desired, often at our expense. Most of us made the "best" of a truly awful situation but felt like a rat trapped in maze. We raised a family, played our role, and hoped that someday things would change if we did our part. It didn't happen, but we were not allowed the luxury of reassigning or releasing our mates from poor stewardship as a spouse or parent. We were stuck until we lost all hope and reached for the unthinkable: divorce. Reality is simple for some. Those who stay happily married (the key word here is happily are the ones who grew and felt companionship from the first days of marriage. Both had the integrity and dedication to insure its success. For those of us who are divorced, tracing back to those same early days, potential disappeared and reality reared its ugly head. All we could feel, after a sealing for "time and all eternity," was bound in an unholy snare. Take the time to examine the reality of who your sweetheart really is. What do they accomplish by natural instinct and ability? What do you like/dislike about them? Can you live with all the collective weaknesses and create a happy, viable union? Are you both committed to making each other happy? Do you respect each other's agency, and are you both encouraging and eager to see the two of you grow as individuals and as a team? Do you both talk-the-talk and walk-the-walk? Or do you love them and hope they'll change once you're married to them? Chances are that if the answer to any of these questions are "sorta," you are embracing their potential and not their reality. You may also be embracing your own potential to endure issues that may not be appropriate sacrifices at this stage in your life. No one changes without the internal impetus and drive to do so. Not for love or money. . . . We are complex creatures, and although we are trained to see the "good" in everyone, it is to our benefit to embrace realism when it comes to finding our "soul mate." It won't get much better than what you have in your relationship right now.

Washingtonians are a bunch of cultured, egotistical, lumpen-elitist snobs who live in their own dream world completely divorced from the rest of the country. Everything they do had to show that they The Bureaucrats are superior to the poor miserable souls in the rest of the country who only exist to pay for their masters’ existence. To ensure this, the government provides cultural events galore for its workers. One need only visit the city and see all the galleries, theaters, orchestras, ballets, and other centers of artistic creation, happily supported by government grants, to discover how true this is.

yourself.” “Maybe we should analyze it. Maybe a little discovery is in order.” “Maybe a little getting under the covers is in order. Baby?” “Yes?” “Are you going to take off your overcoat? Feels like making it with a flasher.” “Good point. Jesus, Pep,” he sighed soulfully. “Keep taking off the coat. That’s it. Now how about the jacket? There you go. . . .” “Six months ago I was happily married.” Pepper rolled her eyes. “Married, okay. Happily? Let’s look at it. But could we maybe be in the now instead of the then?” “Sorry, I’m so damned awkward sometimes. Do you like the top or the bottom?” Pepper stared. “This ain’t summer camp, and I ain’t a bunk bed. Now look here, Chiefy, we are two grown adults, we are colleagues, we have discovered a mutual attraction. We are neither of us cheating on anyone, inasmuch as our spouses filed for divorce. We are both heterosexual—” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It’s a statement of fact intended to differentiate myself from your prior partner for the purpose of putting you at ease so as to . . . oh, c’mere . . . initiate foreplay . . .

Bill's" wife became a Mormon after they had been happily married for years and had several children. When he wouldn't convert to Mormonism, the local LDS leaders assisted "Diane" in divorcing and relocating in Utah, where she was quickly married to a "righteous" LDS widower. When attempts by both the husband and Diane's family were made to see the missing children, the LDS family disappeared to Alaska.

He married, but not happily. He hated his wife for breathing with lungs, which crayfish do not possess. He divorced his wife – and spent the rest of his life in the service of an idea.

Meditation didn’t work any miracles. Miracles happen in an instant of faith. The skeptic in me demanded proof.

Meditation made me sick. Meditation made me mad. Meditation made me sad. Meditation gave me hope. Meditation pointed toward a way. Meditation showed me not just how to live my life but also how to think about life itself.

When logic failed, I could choose to sit, close my eyes, and wait for guidance. Often, the solution would present itself without great struggle. The trick was to still the conscious mind and allow myself to be led. The answer usually flowed in the lower subconscious depths. If I let the ripples settle, the answer rose to the top. Things would unfold exactly as they needed to. And with that knowledge, the tentacles of stress around my neck and shoulders eased.

Dates marked on a calendar are like babies: innocent and untainted. When we assign significance to one particular date—a wedding day for instance—we expand its notional value, even if it is precious only to us. The value of a day (or a baby) increases in proportion to our attachment to it.

It was a day filled with relief and grief in equal measure. I mourned for the fact that we would not create memories together. I mourned for the fact that we would not create memories together. I rejoiced for the fact that we would not create more memories together. I cried because both of those opposing states were true.

With my divorce, I had to keep both my grief and relief private. No one, not even my closest family members, could comprehend the complicated feelings that washed over me. No one I knew had experienced this kind of loss.

There was no social ritual to indicate that I had undergone a major life event. No forty days of rest as after childbirth, no forty days of mourning after death. There was no symbolic act of closure. Like the divorce, the absence of closure would be a unique cross for me to bear.

Wedding vows, in any culture or language, speak of being together in sickness and in health. There is an assumption that you will receive love and thrive in the constant presence and support of the person with whom you are joined together in matrimony, no matter the weather or circumstance. By committing to spending your life together, you are promising one thing: to be around.

I had lived within the confines of familiar social mores, not overthinking the consequences of my choice of name in a future I could not foresee. I didn’t get to pick any of my names, but I could decide what I, the person who bore the name, did with them.

The story of my marriage and motherhood is not unusual: a life defined by a name, a name conferred by someone other than me. Most women I knew had taken on their husband’s name either at the time of the wedding or after the birth of their children. A few had retained their maiden name, with a handful agonizing over the decision.

A name after all is a label as personal as “sweetheart” that a lover may use or as distant as a “hey you” that a stranger in a crowd may call out. But a name is more than a label. It is an inheritance that is uniquely your own. It is the primary way in which you respond to the world and the lens through which the world sees you. It defines you, shapes you, and grounds you. It is the one right you take for granted from the time you start interacting with society.

Change happens as it inevitably does.

I am more than the combination of words by which I am addressed. My personal identity is more than just my name.

The memorable days are few. Most days are a blur of chores and errands and activities that don’t really add up to anything significant. But there is value in savoring the simple joys that each day brings. There is power in being able to choose not just your home and its contents but how you see your life and its context.

With no step-by-step guidance or role models, I had stumbled and fallen and picked myself up. I had survived. I had thrived. All along, I had moved one day at a time, one considered step followed by another, one morning followed by another night. Each day had been an improvement from the day before.

I wanted to grab this moment, which was light and precious and fleeting. I could have done it all along, but it had taken me this entire journey to figure that out.

The country was as much of a mystery to me as the man I had married.

Fire is an important component of Hindu traditions. From the sacred fire around which you walk during your wedding tot he final lighting of the funeral pyre, it occupies center stage at significant life events.

Diamonds are forever, more reliable than husbands.

Change is gradual, like the seasons, and our bodies, like the inside-out change that my life had undergone since the divorce.

Every single person deals with their own special trauma—there is no hierarchy of pain that makes one’s suffering superior to that of others. We work from our own baselines, moving up in our understanding of how it all fits together.

The light at the end of this seemingly never-ending dark tunnel that I had entered, was on the other side of understanding. The clarity I was seeking was within my reach.

I could reassemble my life by picking up only those pieces that I wanted. There were no guarantees, but there was peace in knowing that I would be able to face the next detour when it arrived.

Sometimes silence, more than words, can provide solutions.

Walking didn’t solve the problem, but it gave me a way to keep moving. Walking didn’t bring me to a destination, yet it gave me a way to negotiate the unknown. By holding space for my doubts, walking rescued me.

Although the days seemed interminable, I became comfortable inhabiting an in-between space that was full of possibilities.

Walking was not a passive act; walking was my moving meditation.

A goal, no matter how trivial or lofty, needs the momentum provided by the conviction that it is being pursued for the right reasons.

The only way I could manage the unsettling present was to hold on to those aspects of my former life that had held me steady in the past.

I needed to move, but I also needed time—time to find my new rhythm in this place and in this phase of life.

Life is movement. Life is action.

Every moment spent “doing” meant less time for silence or for self and less opportunity for introspection.

Going inward through meditation was as frightening as being lost in the woods. I was afraid that dark thoughts—guilt, blame, self-pity—would emerge from the shadows of the recesses of my mind where I had pushed them.

No one cared that my little world had come crashing down. I could cry if I wanted to, but I still needed to hold up the small piece of it that depended on me.

I was at a fork in the road of my life where it was clear that certain plans were not going to materialize the way I had hoped. Yet within the whirlpool of the issue lay the kernel of the solution.

No one is ever guaranteed a smooth life, so to expect as much is foolish. To be daunted by the challenges thrown at me was natural, but I knew what lay ahead was not insurmountable.

I did not have a crystal ball to predict my future success, but I had proof from my past efforts. For now, that was enough.

I needed to find out if I still had a motherlode of gratitude buried somewhere in my psyche. I would have to first clear the debris of disenchantment, clear the path and allow that small trickle to come through.

A place can be a living, breathing thing. It can shimmer with joy or with maleficence.

Words have power. When we internalize things that people say about us, those words often become our beliefs.

There’s always a choice and that choice begins with words—the stories people tell you and the stories you tell yourself. How you choose to build the foundation of your life will determine how well it stands up against the naysayers who try to trip you up.

Don’t be afraid to do your part. You will only be proud of the things you do, not the things you were afraid to do because of what someone said.