As of July 14, 2014, I am divorced. A single mother. Living with my parents. Working a part-time telemarketing job. Thirty-nine years old and staring over.

I wanted there to be a huge feeling of relief, like angels singing or unicorns shitting rainbows, and for a few moments it was there. Then the exhaustion and realization that it won't be over while our daughter is a minor hit me. I have to apply for child support, which he more than likely won't pay. He owes taxes I need to get in and won't acknowledge that he needs to pay me in a reasonable amount of time. He calls twice a day, every day, disrupting our lives, just to make her say that he called because he loves her.

I just want to weep with frustration. I wanted to throw a party and revel in being done with him.

But I'm not.