I Left My Marriage and Moved Out. Learning to “Be Alone” Changed My Life

Like many people, in 2020, I got a pandemic divorce. When I moved out of the house my ex-husband and I had shared, I bought a single-family home. It was only seven minutes away from my previous neighborhood, but for me, it was a whole different world. For the first time in my entire life, I lived alone. I have kids — but when they went to their dad’s, I was completely solo in my house.

In my life before my divorce, I was rarely, if ever, alone. I had little kids, yes, but also other grown-ups, including my ex-husband, around all the time. It’s not that I had never wanted to live alone. It just never happened — I lived with my parents, then had roommates in college. Right after college, I moved in with my college boyfriend, who later became my husband, who eventually became my ex-husband. 

The adjustment to living alone was quick, but only because I was forced to be self-sufficient. I did not move into my space in normal times. I moved into my house in August 2020 — in my first few months living alone, my kid had no school, and we all had to deal with the COVID-19 pandemic, the 2020 Oregon wildfires, and an ice storm. 

On the night I moved in, I slept alone in bed for the first time in 13 years, alone in a house for the first time in my life. While the first night and the first weekend without my kids was rough (many tears, little sleep) I grew to like my time alone.

It wasn’t easy. But five years later, I feel at peace. I can parent my kids how I want to. My Broadway posters are hung proudly in the living room, not relegated to the basement like in my old place. I don’t feel guilty about a sink full of dishes or having a “snack dinner” in front of a movie.

And the life I live right now — alone, on the couch, the only owner of my property, the sole purveyor of my dominion — isn’t one I would have always been able to have. I live in Oregon, a state in which women could own property as early as 1878, but only if they were married and white. Single women could not get a mortgage, their own credit card, or a lease for an apartment without a cosigner until 1974 — less than 50 years before I got my divorce. And, as it so happens, it wasn’t until 1969 that the first women in America (in California, natch) could have a no-fault divorce like mine. Oregon women were granted that right in 1971. 

My 1979-built house could have been owned by a single woman, who could have just got one of the first legal no-fault divorces in the country, who would likely have been the first in her generation to own a home. Some 41 years later, it became mine.

In those early days, except for the brief handoff with the preschool teacher, I sometimes didn’t see adults in real life for weeks on end, though I had some friends who were okay to be in my “bubble” or who would meet me for walks when the weather was okay. I like to think this experience hardened my resolve, but it was also traumatic. 

On top of that, until this point, my ex and I had divided labor along pretty traditional gender lines. For example, I cooked; he mowed the lawn. After years of co-parenting under the same roof with my ex, it was also hard to get used to making decisions without asking another adult to gut-check me. When the county next to ours issued an evacuation mandate during the wildfires in the fall of 2020, I asked my friends, “Am I packing? Am I panicking? I don’t know what to do!” I’ve never been more thankful for MMS technology and grateful for my friends.

But I was navigating something different than they were. The vast majority of my friends are married, and I was suddenly not. When I first moved into my postdivorce house, I was nervous about taking care of a whole house and yard alone. Some of my friends offered me their husbands to help out with various tasks (replacing light bulbs, putting together furniture), and, at first, I thought I needed the help.

But then I put together a couple of raised beds and kept strawberries alive. My ex had planted a similar garden in our old house on Mother’s Day, three weeks before he told he wanted a divorce, a baffling gift in retrospect. He let it die by the end of June. So, my little “Victory Garden” in the new place felt like a true victory.

I had to let go of my ego and ask for help. I sometimes had to time moving furniture or doing another two-person task when I had a buddy coming over or my dad visiting. I didn’t know how to use my weed wacker, and broke it trying to reload it. My neighbor had the same tool and, after I got my replacement, showed me how to reload it without breaking it. 

During last year’s ice storm, my other neighbor and I got down on the ground of my filthy garage to put chains on my car. At first I was embarrassed that I didn’t know how to do these things and that I couldn’t figure it out when I tried. But, honestly, people like to help, a lesson that I didn’t realize I had to learn. After all, I like to help others, too. 

My neighborhood is safe, but I’ve seen a few too many horror movies to feel totally secure as a single lady alone. I invested in an alarm system, which gave me peace of mind. 

I also got a dog — a black lab mix named Lucy! She gave me the confidence to walk alone all over my neighborhood, which was fun for my kids, my dog, and I, and also good for our health. And now I was no longer alone on my “no kid” days.

When it comes to safety, my friends also stepped up. I have several group chats, and we check in every day. One time I didn’t respond to a friend for a couple days (my phone overheated, and I missed the message). She was about to get in the car to come check on me when I got her message and replied. Her assumption that I was hurt or dead and her willingness to come save me/discover my body was touching, though macabre.

But the biggest change is how comfortable I’ve become with myself. After years of being partnered, or being with my kids, I genuinely learned how to enjoy my own company and trust my own judgment. Now that I’ve found this new mindset, I wish for other women to live independently if they so desire. Having a partner for the sake of having another adult in the house isn’t necessary and, often, as in my case, isn’t worth it.

I like reading alone for hours on a Friday night sometimes, or sitting outside and staring at a tree, not talking to anyone. Before my divorce, I hardly ever wrote anymore, and now I write every day. I need the quiet, it turns out, to help my nervous system. My yard isn’t as well-manicured as some, and my Christmas light design is simple, but I’m so much happier as a solo homeowner than I was in my previous life.