I got into my car and started to sob. So much more than a glass had been shattered the night I stood under the chuppah

As told to Yehudis E. Lieber

Today is my first anniversary and I’m standing in my bedroom, with its fading teenage posters, collages of high school pictures, and the faint smell of childhood.

Technically, it’s my first anniversary, but is it still called that if I’m no longer married, and my get, less than 24 hours old, is sprinkled with tears that haven’t quite dried?

My neighbors, my coworkers, everyone is gentle and cautious around me, but some of them think to themselves — I can see it in their eyes, hear it in their voices — What is the world coming to? Is nobody willing to work on their marriages anymore? Did nobody tell her that marriage is not disposable?

But to me, marriage was never disposable; it was fine china, delicate and precious. And though I discovered pretty quickly that mine was full of chips and cracks, I still tried my best to polish it to a sheen.

That’s why, even after that dreadful night when it became clear that my husband will never have the ability to be in a healthy relationship, still, the thought of ending my marriage was excruciating. That night I thought I was living through the worst moments of my life, but sometimes, it’s only after your eyes are awash with tears that your vision clears like never before. Because now that I am freshly divorced, I’m finally able to see that it is better this way.

I sit down at my desk and try to write a to-do list, of all things. After yesterday’s intensity — the relief and the grief, the shame and the pain — today, I long for normalcy. To get my life in order. But so far, my page is blank and all I’ve done is chew on my pen. There’s lots to take care of, but where do I start? The whole rhythm of my life has been interrupted and I have no idea how to begin a new one.