Happily divorced and successful endings—is there such a thing?
We don’t talk enough about the quiet strength it takes to let go, and the peace that comes after endings done well.
The word divorce is so often shadowed by conflict and betrayal, earth-shattering endings, bitterness, and loss. But there’s another side to that story, one rarely acknowledged, let alone celebrated. What about those who come through it with a measure of grace, a little dignity—in some cases, even friendship? That’s how my story unfolded. And you’ll be surprised, it’s not as rare as you think.
My ex-husband and I were married for eight years, together for 10. We met in our early 20s; he was barely out of university in Copenhagen, and I had just started my first job in publishing in Manila. Ours was a whirlwind romance, on a cloud nine of shared dreams, spontaneous plane tickets and road trips, nights spent dancing and laughing, the kind that left me with a lifetime’s worth of stories.
Some, if not most, of the best times of my life were spent with him. I remember throughout our marriage, we were always surrounded by friends. He was this bright light, full of energy, the life of any party—and since I could carry a conversation eight drinks in, it felt like we were made for each other. We were a hoot—a fun, young couple who made friends easily wherever we moved (and we moved a lot).
Somewhere along the way, one of us—maybe both—began to drift. I outgrew the daydreaming, and the nights started to feel long and endless. Suddenly, things weren’t as funny as they used to be, and I found myself craving a quiet reprieve from the adventures that had started to feel repetitive. I longed for stillness, for a sense of home whenever the road bent. The realization crept in quietly, unrelenting, cold and unforgiving—like the winters I endured.
When it happened? I couldn’t say. The demise of my marriage felt like a slow death. And I held on, believe me. The exhaustion came not from indifference but from effort. I clung to the idea, the picture I had in my head of growing old together. You have to understand, I’m incredibly strong-willed. Everything in my life up until that point, I had willed into being. So accepting defeat? No, not me.
But it wasn’t defeat. What became of me, of us, was simply stronger than will. The tide that was our marital troubles unraveling was too much to paddle through—at least not one that we could do together. By the time we reached the end, we were worn thin. I won’t bore you with the later years of my marriage, marked by slow, perpetual waves of sadness that came with our uncoupling. Some things are simply too hard to put into words.
What I’m trying to say is this: No one enters a marriage thinking about how to leave it. The notion that people will abuse divorce if it’s legalized is both misguided and unfair. Divorce is already painful—emotionally, mentally, spiritually. And without a clear legal pathway, the process becomes even more excruciating. Not to mention to some, being forced to stay in an unhappy or unsafe marriage isn’t just heartbreaking, it’s life-threatening. Legal divorce isn’t an easy way out. It’s a necessity especially for those who truly need it.
Starting over isn’t easy, but speaking from experience, it’s worth it. I know many couples who’ve chosen to part ways and are doing well in this regard; co-parenting with intention, staying connected through friendship, raising children with clarity and love. This is what families look like now. They’re not broken, they’re redefined.
To be “happily divorced” may sound strange. For me, it simply means being at peace. When I look back, eight years later, I feel good. Sad sometimes, yes, but less with every passing year. There were so many beautiful moments in my marriage. I wouldn’t change a thing. If anything, it made me believe in love even more.
It’s time we normalize separation—amicable separation. There’s a rare kind of intimacy that can exist in an ending—one rooted in grace. Falling out of love. Growing apart. Letting people move on, live truthfully, and rebuild without shame. Because the truth is, unhappy marriages breed unhappy individuals. And people who are stuck, dissatisfied, and suffering cannot be of real service to themselves or to others.
I’ve been asked about my divorce many times. I will always speak about my ex-husband with nothing but affection, as I have done ever since. Not only because he deserves it, but because our story deserves it. The years we built, the learnings, the shared history—I carry all of that with gratitude. I only wish I got asked this question more often: What does love look like after divorce? And then I would say it looks like kindness, like letting go, like wishing each other well. And maybe that, too, is a kind of love story.
