I thought I had come of age several times over by the time I reached my 30s. After all, I had become a bat mitzvah, learning to read Torah and Haftorah and reciting prayers and speeches about my entry into adulthood as a Jew. I had gone through Confirmation at 16, taking part in a level of intellectual inquiry and analysis which surely brought my Jewishness to a more mature and sophisticated level. I had gotten married, for goodness sake! I wore a white dress and took solemn vows in front of God and my family, entering into a covenant according to the laws of Moses and Israel.
I had become a mother! I gave birth without drugs twice, and my second son was born in my home. I was ready to deliver him before my midwife even arrived. These particularly bold and life-affirming experiences felt like coming of age moments, for sure. I struggled with breastfeeding both of my sons but ultimately got the help and counseling I needed, and I was a competent and “good enough” mother to two sons. I thought I had come of age more times and in more ways than most!
Then, I got divorced. That wasn’t the coming of age moment, though. It’s what happened after the divorce: co-parenting with someone you used to live with but now is the person your sons live with 50% of the time.
Since my divorce, I have been forced to dig deeper than I ever have before to confront things in ways I never have before. I have to reach greater levels of understanding and communication and to show compassion in the most important ways, because it’s all about my sons. Putting my hurts, my fears, my resentments, and my anger aside for the best interest of my sons has been the ultimate coming of age experience, as well as the most challenging. It’s also been the most gratifying.
