Imagine waking up one day, knowing it’s the day you have mediation with your ex-husband. Or rather, your still-official husband, since mediation is the reason you’re still tethered by that title. You glance at the date—three days away from the 25th anniversary of your first kiss, a date that always felt more meaningful than your wedding day. It’s also coincidentally three days before Hitler’s birthday, a strange joke you both used to share. Now, it feels like a bad omen.
After a year and a half of separation, with him living across the country, you’ve settled on calling him your ex. You’ve always believed in mediation as a way to avoid a war with the father of your children, despite the nagging doubts planted by well-meaning friends. Standing there naked in front of your closet, you feel the pressure of making the right choice. Jeans could work since they’re acceptable at your job, but they don’t feel right for a meeting with your divorce lawyer in a plush, book-lined office. You shiver slightly from the chill of the morning air. Should you grab your robe hanging just out of reach? Nah, it’s late—time to get dressed.
The robe was a gift from your ex, a soft yellow cotton piece with a thick white terry lining. You had requested it for your birthday, but he had chosen it himself. Sometimes, when you see it now, it stabs at your heart. Grief hits you suddenly, like the loss of your father who passed away too soon. It’s triggered by the silliest things, like that robe, or a painting you once loved. Moss reminds you of him too; it’s everywhere, and it brings a wave of sadness.
Perhaps it’s time for a new robe.
Yet here you are, still standing naked, grappling not just with your outfit for the lawyer’s office but also with your emotional armor for the day ahead. Kevlar, you think—maybe I need a whole suit of that. As you catch a glimpse of your reflection, you’re suddenly overwhelmed by self-doubt. Who would love that body? The sagging skin that once held life, breasts that now seem purposeless, and the remnants of a once youthful figure. You turn to see your backside; surprisingly, it’s not as offensive as you remember. Gravity has been kinder to it, and it feels like a small consolation amidst a landscape of change.
Your mother used to call you “skin and bones.” You’ve always been angular—except for that brief phase in college when you were rounder, a time when people treated you differently. You felt both desirable and approachable. It was during that time you met your ex, and yes, you felt both. Photos from that year capture a version of you that feels lost now. As the years passed, so did the love you once shared, unraveling gradually after your first child was born. You thought you were committed, that divorce meant surrendering, and you weren’t that person. You sought help, went on awkward dates, and tried to convince yourself that the romance was real.
Today, you decide on a cream top. It’s comfortable yet professional enough for the lawyer’s office. You pair it with a blue corduroy skirt and a white cashmere cardigan gifted by your friend Sarah. Softness is essential today; you need to feel that connection to love and support.
However, there’s a hitch—the zipper on the cream top. You struggle in vain, twisting and turning to zip it up like he used to do. Frustration bubbles up. Why should you have to ask for help? You’re resolved to conquer this zipper, this small act of independence. After all, you are a stubborn woman, and you’re not shying away from that truth.
Just then, Nina Simone’s haunting rendition of “You’d Be So Nice To Come Home To” fills the room. It evokes thoughts of potential love, yet the reality lurks at the edges—a love fraught with complications and the weight of children’s needs. A few tears escape, a blend of grief and hope, marking the morning of your divorce mediation. You allow yourself this moment.
With renewed determination, you finally zip up that stubborn zipper just as the song crescendos. It feels like a triumph, a small victory amidst a chaotic life. You revel in the joy of that simple act, realizing how little it takes these days to feel accomplished.
You step out, wearing your cream top confidently, ready to face your ex in a meeting about dividing assets, debts, and moving forward. As you walk downtown, you’re reminded of your strength, even as a part of you still feels like a child brimming with emotion. The mediator’s wise words echo in your mind: the little one still needs a father. The room feels stifling, but your lawyer offers a lifeline, guiding you through the tense atmosphere.
“Let’s all take a moment to breathe,” she suggests, and you remove your cardigan, feeling the lightness of the cream top against your skin. It’s the perfect outfit for a day filled with emotional complexity. You’re a mix of soft and hard, destroyed yet renewed, ready to embrace whatever comes next without the need for armor.
Summary
This piece reflects on the emotional journey of preparing for a divorce mediation, focusing on the significance of clothing choices as a metaphor for personal strength and resilience. The narrative intertwines memories, reflections on love, and the challenges of self-acceptance, culminating in a moment of triumph when the protagonist zips up her dress, symbolizing her readiness to face the future.
Keyphrase: “What to Wear for Your Divorce Mediation”
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