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I was warned it would happen. It starts with a post or two on Facebook, and an influx of engagement photos, and lo and behold, it feels as if everyone in their early 20s got married while I was having trouble committing to a cell phone plan. “Whatever,” responded a friend to my lamentations, “they’ll all be divorced in five years anyway.” While I’m holding out hope for their happiness, it got me wondering, would a high rate of divorce in our generation be such a bad thing?

I’m a child of divorce from a relatively long line of divorcees. My parents split when I was 16, and my maternal grandparents divorced in 1982, which was significantly more of a scandal than it would have been today. I won’t lie, living through a divorce is not easy. My parents did an excellent job of supporting my brother and me through the process, but there is no quick or painless way to separate a family. However, much like any upheaval, we recovered. It is safe to say that in the long run we came out happier. The effect of divorce is different for every family, but mine is proof that it is not always a bad thing.

In fact, assuming that death — not lawyers — is what will end your marriage is more damaging than you might think. Happily being with one person for the rest of your life requires a near flawless relationship, which — much like the perfect cellphone plan — is something we can all aspire to, but may never find. The expectation that we are all supposed to remain with the one we married also means that we implicitly support the continuation of unhealthy relationships.

Seeing marriage as immutable makes leaving unhealthy situations that much more difficult by putting pressure on someone to stay with an abusive partner. Instead of viewing rising divorce rates as the failure of modern marriage (or the notorious feminist movement encouraging women to leave the kitchen) we ought to instead see it as a rise in individual agency. Maybe people are no less happy in marriages than they have been historically; instead, they now have the ability to leave when they need to.

At this point, I should probably digress to assure you that I do not think badly of marriage just because I am advocating for an open dialogue about divorce. I myself am excited to marry, and I am often reminded of how well the arrangement can work by the wonderfully happy couples in my life, young and old. However, when discussing matrimony we often lose sight of the fact that other people’s relationships have no impact on our own. Your neighbors getting a divorce does not mean that your marriage is any less of a success, or any less special. Opening up a dialogue on the topic won’t make happy relationships fail, instead it will help put an end to unhealthy ones.

Accepting this, what would a world with more divorce look like? Firstly, we would need to go into marriage with an open mind and a prenuptial agreement. Accepting that we may have many weddings — or none at all — might make them seem less momentous. (“Great ceremony Aunt Judy, see you at the next one!”) Prenups might alleviate some tension during the separation and mitigate some of the legal costs, making the process more affordable. Divorce becoming more commonplace would foster better solidarity networks and support. This could lessen the unnecessary guilt and shame that often makes an already difficult situation that much worse. Let’s treat divorce the way we do breakups from long-term relationships — devastating, but nothing uncommon or to be ashamed of.

To those who will be married, or who are married, I wish to tell you that I have nothing but high hopes for your future and wellbeing. I would not wish a bad relationship on anyone, nor do I think divorce is always the solution, or inevitable. Instead, my wedding vows to my future partner will look something like this:  “you are perfect to me right now, and I can’t wait to spend the foreseeable future with you. Let’s build a life together, and not be afraid to dismantle it if it no longer works. To us, and the happiest we can possibly be.”

By: Grace Bocking 

As a perpetually shy individual who also happens to loath conflict, clear communication is not one of my strong suits.  I cannot begin to list the number of times I have been unable to properly communicate my feelings or opinions because I’ve been terrified of what could follow. What if people get mad at me? What if they disagree? What if they think I’m stupid? These nightmarish scenarios have played through my head like reruns of Friends, and they’ve prevented me from saying the things that I really wanted to.

In a society that teaches us to filter ourselves and be reserved in groups, speaking with honesty and conviction isn’t easy. It’s fear that often stands in my way, but others fear judgement, can’t find the right words, or are simply avoiding confrontation.

Recently, this pattern of refusing to assert myself has become more troubling to me. I realized that by not saying what I mean or meaning what I say, I have been keeping those around me at an arm’s length. Friends, family, and roommates have all been kept in the dark. Not only is this isolating, but it has prevented me from strengthening relationships that I value. Many of those closest to me don’t know what’s on my mind, and therefore don’t truly know me.

What’s more is that by refusing to share my views and feelings, I have been diminishing their importance. By shaping myself in to the agreeable person that I believe others want me to be, I have been able to avoid conflict. However, I have also been telling myself and the world that the way I see things isn’t important and that my opinions aren’t as valid as of everyone else’s. I am a plain doormat than no one would pay attention to.

This isn’t to say that I should be blunt or rude in my conversations with others; just that I should eliminate some of the fluff and lip service I give. Being genuine makes you an interesting person, whereas avoiding conflict by saying common and agreeable statements just makes you that nice, albeit bland and uninteresting, person.

What I am beginning to learn is that while holding your tongue may temporarily delay a confrontation or an awkward conversation, it is neither a good nor lasting solution. It only prolongs your suffering. I know just how difficult it can be to speak your mind, but I have found that honesty always improves the situation. People won’t know you’re upset unless you tell them, and hiding up your feelings will only make you feel trapped.

Intentionally misleading the people in your life is never the right answer. If we would all commit to saying what we mean and meaning what we say, many misunderstandings would be avoided. Though ripped straight from an afterschool special, honesty truly is the best policy.

I think I’m obsessed with the fragility of human relationships. I reflect upon past relationships and consider the future of my current relationships. I remember boys who held my hand during the short summer months. I remember long-forgotten friends who comforted me while I cried about something dumb. I remember teachers who wrote “keep writing” in my yearbook and schoolmates who made me laugh in the middle of the soccer field. I remember strangers sitting next to me on the bus, strangers whose faces and eyes and expressions I studied so carefully that they were not so strange when the bus came to my stop.

I think about the people who touched my life who I will probably never meet again. Or the people who once meant so much to me, who mean a little less every single day. I think it’s one of the tragedies of life – that we invest so much in one another, only to have it fall apart or fade away or suddenly not matter anymore. We find each other wonderful and fascinating and beautiful and incomprehensibly irreplaceable, but in only a matter of weeks and months and years – we move on. Sometimes we look back, but other times it’s too painful, or we simply don’t care to anymore. And we find new people, make new friendships, kiss other strangers and the cycle continues. Meet, fall in love, separate, forget, repeat.

This must be one of the most unforgiveable things about human nature. Perhaps it is an evolutionary fact of survival. We have to know how to move on. When a loved one dies, eventually we learn to move on – the human race could not exist otherwise, we would have died out centuries ago, it wouldn’t have taken long for every human on earth to experience loss. But I don’t think I’m talking about death. I’m talking about break-ups, failed friendships, random interactions, brief encounters – all those emotions we feel in those moments. Where do they all go when the people we experienced them with have gone? Does the love go with them? Or does it stay hidden inside both of us, a memory we’d rather keep somewhere under a dusty mass of years? Does it all just become a secret that we can’t even share with ourselves?

And the memories, the memories! Where do they go? How can our hearts hold so many memories that we leave untouched for so long, sometimes forever? I often wish that I could play all my memories like a never-ending reel, a film that I would watch for days and days, sobbing and laughing and experiencing them one more time. But what good would that do me? The ex-lovers who lifted my chin with two fingers and stared straight into my soul – what good could come from looking into those eyes again? The friends who made me laugh until a little bit of pee came out, why should I want to relive that laughter only to have it end more suddenly and coldly than before?

And then I have to ask myself, is this the fate of all relationships? Is anything forever? Is it something we have to accept when we enter into all forms of human contact? Do we have to tell ourselves, this will end someday? There will come a time that I mean nothing to you and you mean nothing to me, and it won’t even matter that we mean nothing to each other. Or maybe it will matter, but only to me. So dance with me anyway. Laugh with me anyway. Hold me, fuck me, inspire me, scare me, stay with me a little longer anyway.

Or do we have to find a way to believe that some relationships must be different? Some relationships must exist outside of this universe where people fall asleep beside each other and then rarely think of one another again. And that we have to resist those conditions that reality has handed to us (however deluded and unsafe it might be), those conditions that explicitly state that people die, change, make mistakes, have regrets and sometimes wake up one morning and feel differently for no apparent reason.