You are not the slurs they throw at you. You are not their ignorance, nor their lack of tact.

My marriage ended for many reasons - judgment, condescension, lack of support, and emotional infidelity - but the reason why I finally loaded all of my possessions into boxes and stacked those boxes into my car was because I wanted to stand on my own as a 27 year old woman, to know what it was like to rely on myself instead of any man, and to explore the world on my own terms, instead of anyone else's. What kept running through my head as I drank and cried and said good-bye to my boy-cat (who'd be staying with my ex) was the line from the Sex and the City movie where Samantha says to Smith: "I'm gonna say the one thing you aren't supposed to say. I love you, but I love me more. I've been in a relationship with myself for 49 years and that's the one I need to work on." I may not be 49, but after dating guys back-to-back-to-back for 11 years, the relationship I need to work on is the one I have with myself. So in spite of how dearly I loved (and love) my husband, I let him make me a final Jack and ginger and give me a final kiss before driving east to my mother's place without music, without tears, without any semblance of even being alive. However, that didn't stop me from making a layover that night at a friend's house for seven rounds of sex. Call me a slut if you want to. It's been implied. Tell me that my decisions are fucked up. That's been said. Silently judge me for what I've done. You wouldn't be the first. That's the thing about divorce: once you decide to have one, everyone in your life decides that this deeply personal and heart-wrenching decision is their property, indeed, public property. If you're not constantly a mess, sobbing over love songs and choking down rom-coms with your Ben and Jerry's, you're not "doing it right." If you want to be single, but not celibate, you're the "cold hard bitch" that Jet sang about in the early aughts. There's something about divorce that's supposed to be completely destructive without being restorative. The recitation of vows and the putting on of a symbolically virginal dress are meant to become thorns in your side, rending your flesh every time you try to function as a normal human being. You aren't supposed to do much more than inhale your ex-spouse's clothing until their scent has evaporated. You aren't supposed to get out of your sweatpants. You aren't supposed to sleep. You aren't supposed to find comfort in the arms of someone else. And yet, in the beds of others, I have discovered that my body is beautiful, desirable. I used to listen to the protests of my ex when he told me that a spoonful of peanut butter was chock full of fat, that I should eat fewer carbohydrates, that I should do more yoga because he preferred my body when it was more toned. In the beds of others, I have been stroked, admired, smiled at, ravished. I have re-learned my worth, silly as it may seem, as a woman. Between the sheets of my lovers, there have been comforting cheek strokes from a friend with benefits and forehead kisses from a recent paramour, each a reminder that there will be love for me one day, that this is not the end. There have been drinks and dalliances and flirtations and fucks that reawaken my body to part of its purpose: to enjoy and be enjoyed. And in between, there is sweetness, caring, and compassion. On more than one occasion, there has even been breakfast. Having a sex life after divorce doesn't have to mean taking endless shots, approaching a black out, and falling into the arms of whoever happens to open them - along with your legs. You can choose partners you trust, decide the terms of your encounter ahead of time, and find yourself comfortably awakening in someone else's bed, completely naked, completely blissful, and completely at ease. There will be pain and tears and empty nights that somehow fill with the darknesses of doubt, loneliness, and scratching, aching slashes at your self-worth. But there will also be evenings where you can search out the part of yourself that is capable of happiness, enjoyment, and worthiness - with friends, perhaps, or at work, but sometimes that fulfillment will come in the arms of another, and it is nothing to be ashamed of. No matter if they call you selfish, or heartless, or stupid, or fucked up, your sexuality is your own to use for whatever purpose you choose. You are not the slurs they throw at you. You are not their ignorance, nor their lack of tact. You are a divorcee, the master of your destiny, and you answer to no one - save yourself. - Liz Lazzara