Jennifer and Ben. Nicole and Tom. Brad and Angelina. It seems that the couples we have held so dear to us for years are dissipating before our eyes, falling into the throes of divorce. Everything was quiet on the eve of the news that shook the world, but doom was impending in the morning. “Love is dead,” tweeted distressed men and women alike, each wondering how, like Icarus, their heroes have fallen. “If they can’t make it, none of us can.” Although I shared this sentiment in the initial hours hearing about the Brangelina divorce, the more I thought about it, the more I began to question how we talk about divorce.
Love is not dead. One brisk walk down Commonwealth Avenue trying to avoid the gaggle of couples will teach you that. Getting divorced is not a claim that love is dead or that marriage is a failed institution. It’s a statement admitting that both parties have changed, sometimes beyond a point of repair.
Love is a complicated thing. To love someone is to choose to love them, their eccentricities, their characteristics that drive you crazy. To love someone is to choose them, as a partner, as a friend, as a confidant. Sometimes, that love is a hard decision to make when you and the other person have changed and drifted apart.
Many people believe that divorce symbolizes the end of a happy, thriving marriage. Brad and Angelina are not exempt from this thinking. When they broke the news, Twitter was flooded with photos of the couple, usually in black and white, stealing glances at each other. The photos were all the same — either Brad or Angelina would be looking at the camera, and the other would be looking at their spouse. It is easy to look at photos like those and believe in the strength of their marriage.
The day my parents announced their “conscious uncoupling,” long before we had been graced with that phrase, I believed that love had died. Aside from the physical pain of going to the dentist that morning, I felt an emotional pain that seemed to weigh on my heart. I used to believe that my parents were the epitome of true love, one I could look forward to having when I grew up. When they broke the news, all I could think of were the times we had all spent together — holidays, birthdays, vacations, where it had seemed like they were inseparable. I started to feel as if all of those experiences weren’t real. I soon learned that I was mistaken. The love was there, but so were two people who had drifted apart.
As the years went on, I began to see two people who cared very deeply for each other grow into different people than I had known in my childhood. They still cared for each other, but they were not the same people who walked down the aisle years earlier. When it came down to it, they were able to agree that they would be better off living their lives apart. It’s taken me years, many boxes of tissues and a better understanding of relationships to make peace with that.
If divorce is viewed as an evil, as it is in certain cultures and religions, it is a necessary evil. It allows for people who have grown apart, hurt each other, either emotionally or sometimes physically, to gain leave of each other. It allows for something that may have grown toxic to end, which can also lead to something beautiful to grow. In some cases, it comes from a place of malice. In other cases, it comes from a place of separation. Divorce can be scary, and it can prevent people from getting close to one another, getting married — but it shouldn’t. Fear of “failure” should not stop us from ever trying.
Meredith loves telling stories and pretending to be Carrie Bradshaw, minus the man and comfy NYC apartment. She, however, eats enough brunch to cover all six seasons. When she's not drowning in 16th-century literature, she can be found lamenting over the bad grammar and bad boys in her middle school diary.
Find her on twitter @merewilsh or email her mwilsher@bu.edu with all your love musings or questions.
