I was raised Christian and surrounded by staunched Christians most of young life. Marriage was taught to be forever through thick and thin and divorce was not an option. I witnessed my parents unhappy union and yet, they remained married their entire life. When my first marriage failed, I had no support from my parents and my Christian friends advised me to pray and stick it out. God will take care of it. One friend told me that separation was ok but divorce was a no no. In the midst of it, an elder of a church listened to my plea and my anguished. Him and his wife did not ask me to stay. They were supportive and gave me great advise.They told me to be fair, not to let him roll me over with nothing to my name, and to let go of the small stuff. Specifically, they told me not to spend my energy fighting for pots and pans. That was my guide and I did just that. Fighting for what was my share lingered longer than I had anticipated. At one point, I had almost given up. It took every ounce of me to stick it out. Blood, sweat, and tears.  Letting go was also hard. But I came out of the battle with what was mine, enough for me to move on. I still would have loved to be able to have that peacock chair at my patio, the imported sofa set, the custom made curtain, and the side cabinet I picked up from a local salvation army. It was an emotional bond I had with those things. They were things that were carefully selected and placed with much thoughts but at the end of the day, they were just things.

My husband's brother was already divorced  and his sister was about to file for a divorce when we met. When my mother found out about their "failed" marriage she made a comment that "westerners like to divorce!" I didn't give much regard to her comment knowing that she was ignorant. The people I know never took marriage lightly and the decision to get a divorce was never an easy one.

So this Christmas I  met up with a childhood friend. I knew that she had been fighting with her husband but I was not prepared to get a text from her stating that she is contemplating leaving. But I also know that it had to be at a point of no return. Subsequently I found out about his violent temper, the throwing things and the years of emotional abuse. When she called after our visit, I not only told her to leave, I told her to go as soon as the window of opportunity presents itself. I told her to be careful. To be safe and to have the courage to protect their infant son. I do worry about her. Truth is, I am afraid that he may hurt or kill her. That is the reality. There is so much I want to tell her and there is so much I wish I can do for her. I still hear the whisper of the advise I was once given.  In time, I will also tell her to fight for what is hers, what is fair, and to let go of the small stuff. I will also add one more of my own.  I will tell her not to feel bad if she sees faces of happy family because within each smile, there is a story. Be it bad or good. That kept me going during my tough years. Made me realize that all is not always what it seems. Reminding myself that "everyone has a story" made me feel like a fighter and not a failure.