From the Archive: The Guilty Pleasure of a Surprising New Life

An elegant memoir sparked post-divorce reflection for our Managing Editor

Hello to all our new readers in 26 countries around the world! It’s me, Alicia Dara, Editor In Chief of Womancake Magazine. I’ll announce our new quarterly theme soon, but in the meantime, enjoy this fantastic book review/personal essay by our former Managing Editor, Johanna Dokken. There is so much truth and wisdom in this piece, and I love the way she is in dialogue with the book’s author about particular details that might be familiar to you:

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10 years and a remarriage later, I still tip-toe back to the memories of my post-divorce life lightly. It was a transition that required releasing a deep history, like a snake shedding old layers to find itself newly raw and translucent. Maggie Smith’s elegant You Could Make This Place Beautiful, a patchwork memoir of grief and healing, spoke to me on this level. My ex and I separated in 2013, and it’s an era that I return to with my internal caution signs lit, because it goes one of two ways: either it evokes the sense of energy and relief that came along with a new chapter, or it festers the scars of fear and ambiguity that used to spring up. But I recognize that the ambiguity of this dark time brought about a rebirth, and the surprising joy of a fresh new start.

We each have our own process to move through these types of painful disruptions. There are common aspects of Smith’s story that may feel familiar and cathartic for anyone who has unraveled from a long-term relationship. Her lyrical story winds together a few arcs. There is one of raw grief, in light of the fact that her 20+ year relationship broke down at the cusp of the Pandemic. There is one of betrayal and disappointment and the difficulty of letting go. Behind these, there is the taking stock of what she has left in her life, like children, friends, and family. This can lead to simply picking back up the parts of yourself that got lost along the way. 

Smith imagines versions of herself as nesting dolls, each chapter of her history inside the other, down to her core self and experience. 

“We are all nesting dolls, carrying the earlier iterations of ourselves inside. We carry the past inside us.”

As I age, I seek to ground myself in my life experience and who I am at the core. But during my post-divorce transition, when I came out of my 15-year relationship, I realized how far I had fallen away from myself. I was externally focused and hyper-vigilant, and it took a new paradigm of strength to focus inward. When the chaos of the transition finally subsided, there was an opportunity to breathe in the quiet, focus on myself, and build back up. I went to women’s groups, reconnected with friends, and explored new hobbies. I revisited all those nesting dolls that were shielded by the layers of protection that had kept them safe. I was able to reopen and connect with those parts of myself I had put aside, and find solace in the process. 

“Betrayal is neat because it is absolving.”

In Smith’s case, betrayal came in the form of infidelity, and a breakdown of trust in her spouse supporting her career. As I considered this root cause analysis,  I wondered if every relationship that unravels could potentially be traced back to a form of betrayal. In the case of my first marriage it was a betrayal through anger, abuse, and the struggles of addiction. I know how it feels to not know the whole truth, yet have faith that something will change.

“I didn’t want to be that friend – the one that when you see them and ask “How are you?” they will tell you how the fuck they are and it is not good, people. I worried about grinding people down on the sparking wheel of my divorce.”  

Fun party trick – do you want to make someone instantly uncomfortable? Start talking about divorce. It felt like the elephant in the room of every polite conversation that I tried to keep light. It was always humming, always something being sorted out logistically or emotionally underneath my feigned composure. With my current marriage and blended family, there have been similar areas of my life to sort out and process, but as my support network might attest, nothing hung heavier than the stigma and complexity of my divorce.

“That night when I tucked him in… I could hear the clock of his heart right under my ear. If there’s a better way to keep time, I don’t know it”. 

I too had several years of being a single mom like this, just me and my kids, our rituals and routines creating precious joy and structure through periods of ambiguity. The small moments Smith brings to life, like tucking kids into bed and sharing music with her adolescent daughter, are touching examples of how healing can come from energy and presence with loved ones. 

“What now? I am out with the lanterns, looking for myself. But here’s the thing about carrying the light with you: No matter where you go, and no matter what you find – or don’t find – you change the darkness just by entering it. You clear a path through it. This flickering? It’s mine. The path is mine.”

My first impression of the title of this memoir seemed to be a message to Smith’s former husband with the veiled idea that this marriage could have been great, and you fucked it up. But after following Smith through her nostalgia, disappointment, and grief, it is clear she is still on a journey. The “beautiful place” is the destination she is on the path to creating. It is a message to herself, a mantra that gives her purpose and allows her to look forward. I have felt this turning point in myself, and in other women who have moved through a divorce. We are so often conditioned to put everyone else’s needs before our own that it can feel strange, even frightening, to flip that script. But the point at which we stop looking backward and start moving forward is the point where guilt starts to lose its power, and pleasure comes into focus. The “beautiful place” is here and now.  

My kids and I, 2015, the single mom years.