“He left us years ago. I am still suffering but ni modo. What else can I do, wake up every morning and think about how my son’s father is a dog? You have to move on, m’hija.”

–Mexican woman quoted in a travel essay by S. Griest

A few days ago I finished reading a memoir about a divorce. The woman who wrote it was an intimidatingly good writer. Her story put her own divorce crazies out there for the world to see.

I had them, too. They come up on you when a man leaves. Like a disease. Endless therapy sessions, incessant mourning and maligning the errant ex-spouse to anyone who listens. Among other things.

Putting them on the table, on display, as this author did, takes courage. I’m not sure I could be that honest. Of course, perhaps she did even crazier things and didn’t include them.

It occurs to me that only relatively well-off women can indulge themselves in the divorce crazies. Working class women with survival issues have to just get over it and get on with their lives.

That’s the other side of it, the distinction that came to mind today when I saw that woman quoted in Griest’s essay.