I can’t tell you how many times I landed on the floor of my kitchen or the floor of my den. How many times I lay face-down, crying until I thought I had no tears left. Wailing. Screaming. Dying a little death each time. And then, another day would arrive, and with it, more tears.

Growing up, I was told masturbation was evil. That if I did it, I should cut off my hand.

But the truth is, by then, I already wanted to cut my hands off…

Twenty years ago, one of my mentors, Father Paul—a wise, gentle priest from a Catholic community in northern Ontario—shared something with me that I never forgot.

“You should date someone through all four seasons—an entire year—before deciding to commit your life to them.”

This morning, Arend and I walked into City Hall to file for divorce. What I felt wasn’t grief. It was freedom.

I know that may sound confusing…