How Not to Get Divorced: Part 3
A series in tweets, texts, and tales
Welcome back! Through this series, I am attempting to highlight the humor in the situation. I realize this is a serious subject and I recognize the differing views on divorce. I don't think anyone ever gets married with the intention to divorce or take it all lightly. I certainly didn't. My family is rare in that we only have one divorced couple in our whole extended family. So, navigating through a divorce is also new territory for me. It's a tough process. I will argue that a messy child custody case is far, far worse than a divorce, but that's not the topic today.
I, like many people in the midst of a major life change, have done some research and reading. By research, I started like most people with a quick Google search. Isn't that where we all start now? I started looking up mental health and addiction issues and how they could possibly be interrelated. While this is probably not new for many, I learned about a term called "Love bombing."
According to www.choosetherapy.com, Love Bombing is defined as: "the intense pattern of adoration, flattery, and desire for closeness. Love bombers rely on this phase to build connection and maintain a sense of trust and intimacy."
If you have ever gone through a cycle of abuse, in any form, love bombing is probably familiar to you.
All that being said, when you go through a breakup, the best way to get someone's attention is totally by blowing up their phone with love bombing, right?
For those who haven't had a chance to have an outside perspective on someone being love bombed, I will give you an example in a bit. For those who have experienced it, please know that the person who is love bombing you is always trying to keep you on your toes to make YOU try to achieve the feelings that are given during the love bombing phase. Because I recognize the cycle of abuse, as annoying as it is initially, in a day or two, I find it funny. Call it Gallow's Humor, self-preservation, whatever. It's funny. Again, I don't wish it on anyone, but if you ever need a good eye-roll, read through a love bombing text chain after it happens.
Does any of that make sense? No. Is it frustrating? Sure. Is it funny? Maybe. This continues for almost a year. It's not every day. I got about a week to three weeks' break between events. I don't know what else to call it, so we're just going to call it an event.
The mood swings during love bombing are real. You can go from being adored to being "an asshole" when the person doesn't get their way. As much as I find humor in my own situation, it is exhausting. It is draining. I don't want to gloss over that part. If you find yourself in this situation, I hope you are able to get counseling of some sort because it weighs on you. Functioning normally while in the process of starting a divorce is hard. I hope you all find yourself with a few close, trusted friends to talk to, vent, and share the ridiculousness. Go easy on yourself, give yourself grace and moving forward is often minute by minute.
Big life changes come with a whole range of reactions. If you are able to end a relationship with grace and understanding, I envy you. It was always what I aspired for. It is what we talked about when we were dating. It was not how it played out in practice. So, grab another cup of coffee, take a sip, and have a giggle.
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In a small town surrounded by dusty roads and silent fields, two boys grew up with the same dream—to become the best runners their country had ever seen. Their names were Ayaan and Rohan, and from the outside, their lives seemed similar. They attended the same school, ran on the same broken track, and dreamed under the same open sky. Yet the paths they took, and the lessons they would teach the world, were very different. From an early age, Rohan was known as “the gifted one.” He ran faster than everyone else without much effort. Teachers praised him, classmates admired him, and coaches spoke about him with pride. His stride was smooth, his breathing calm, and his victories came easily. People said he was born to run. Talent, they believed, lived in his blood. Ayaan, on the other hand, was ordinary. He ran slower, tired faster, and often finished near the back. No one applauded his efforts. No one called him special. But Ayaan had something few noticed—an unbreakable determination. While others went home after practice, Ayaan stayed. While others rested on weekends, Ayaan trained alone. He believed that if talent was a gift, then hard work was a choice—and he chose it every day. As the years passed, the difference between them grew clearer. Rohan continued to win local races with ease. Because success came naturally, he trained only when required. “Why push so hard when I’m already the best?” he often thought. He enjoyed praise and believed talent would always carry him forward. Ayaan’s journey was much harder. He woke up before sunrise, running through empty streets while the world slept. His legs ached, his lungs burned, and doubt often whispered in his mind. There were days he wanted to quit, days when progress felt invisible. But each time he stumbled, he reminded himself of one truth: effort never lies. Even when results are slow, work is never wasted. Their first major competition came in high school—a regional championship that attracted scouts and professional coaches. Rohan entered with confidence. Ayaan entered with quiet focus. When the race began, Rohan surged ahead effortlessly, while Ayaan stayed behind, steady and controlled. As expected, Rohan won. The crowd cheered his name, and reporters asked about his “natural ability.” Ayaan finished far behind, unnoticed and exhausted. That night, Rohan celebrated. Ayaan trained. Time moved on, and both boys entered a national sports academy. Now the competition was tougher. Everyone was talented. Everyone was fast. For the first time, Rohan met runners who were as gifted as he was—some even more. Suddenly, talent alone was not enough. Training sessions became brutal. Discipline mattered. Consistency mattered. Rohan struggled. He wasn’t used to pushing past comfort. When training became painful, he slowed down. When coaches criticized him, he felt offended. “I’ve always been the best,” he told himself. “Why should I suffer like this?” Ayaan, however, felt at home in struggle. Pain was familiar to him. Discipline was his companion. While others complained, he listened. While others skipped sessions, he showed up. Slowly, almost invisibly, he began to improve. His times dropped. His endurance increased. His confidence grew—not from praise, but from proof. Years later, the two met again at a national championship—the kind that could decide careers. Rohan was still talented, but inconsistent. Ayaan was not the fastest on paper, but he was reliable, focused, and mentally strong. The race was long and demanding. Halfway through, Rohan pushed hard, relying on his natural speed. But as fatigue set in, his form broke. Doubt crept in. He had never learned how to fight exhaustion. Ayaan ran differently. He paced himself. Every step reflected thousands of unseen hours. When his body begged him to stop, his mind answered, “Keep going.” One by one, he passed runners who had relied only on talent. In the final stretch, Ayaan surged ahead—not because he was born faster, but because he had trained his body and mind to endure. He crossed the finish line first. The crowd roared, surprised by the name they barely knew. Rohan finished far behind. For the first time, he understood a painful truth: talent opens doors, but it does not keep them open. After the race, Rohan sat alone, staring at the track that once felt so easy. Ayaan approached him, offering a quiet smile—not of pride, but of understanding. “I always thought talent was everything,” Rohan admitted softly. Ayaan shook his head. “Talent is a spark. Hard work is the fire.” Years later, Ayaan became a respected athlete and mentor. He taught young runners that success is built when no one is watching. Rohan, too, changed. 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