I am excited to announce that I will be speaking at a conference all about divorce: how to survive it, smart financial tactics, how to get on your own new path, and more. The conference is called The Start Over Smart Expo, and will be March 31 and April 1 in New York City. (Click HERE for more info and to register.)

In a way, my life has come full circle, because I used to speak at bridal expos when I was editor in chief of Modern Bride magazine back in the '90s. (The magazine doesn't exist anymore, and neither does my marriage, but that's purely cooincidential, I assure you!)

I am really looking forward to my talk at the expo, because it won't be a speech or a lecture. Instead I'm hoping it will be an exchange, a time for the audience members to share some of their stories and for me to help them think about their divorce differently, in a way that moves them forward, setting them free from staying engaged in the struggles of the past. The session is called "Reclaiming Your Divorce for Yourself," and that's the journey that I describe in my book, all those moments where I had to deeply consider what, exactly, it was that was so shameful, hurtful, and damaging about my divorce.... and then decide to think about it all differently. To think about it an opportunity to re-tune my vision of myself, to let go of worrying about what people thought and instead focus on what I thought. That was what I had to do to reclaim my divorce.

What would you have to do to reclaim your divorce, to not make it about what did or didn't happen in your marriage, and instead make it who you are now?

If you are in the New York City area, I hope you will consider coming to the Expo.

For those of you who can't, here's a blog post I wrote for Start Over Smart, which talks a bit more about how I reclaimed my divorce.

I have been divorced for—woah!—more than five years now. And it was eight years ago that Chris told me he wanted to go. It's hard to believe how routine and easy our divorced life is now, since it came from such a hard, emotional, challenging times.

But when I was going through the divorce, and then later writing the book, I knew that change would keep coming to us, and that we would only know how to react to those changes as they came our way. I am happy to report that Chris and I have had very few difficulties and troubles, other than the ordinary conflicts of clashing parenting styles and rules, which every couple, divorced or not, has to navigate.

Several months ago, I realized I was going to need to move out of Brooklyn, where Chris and I both live, 20 blocks apart, because I simply can't afford to support my son and myself here in my current job. The day I decided to let Chris know that this was looking like the situation was scary in so many ways. We did not have an agreement in our divorce regarding living in the same city (as many people do), partly because I always knew the day would come when one of us would have to move away from this expensive town. But I don't think I thought it would be me!

Would he be furious at me? Would he tell me there was no way I was allowed to move his son away from him? Would he insist we go to lawyers to negotiate this? (Unlikely, but still, I was entering uncharted waters.) But no, Chris simply said, "I was figuring that was going to happen." And I promised that I would take full responsibilty to bring Zack to him as often as made sense, as often as we agreed. And he said that he knew that I would. 

I was relieved. And I was also once again filled with a sense of satisfaction that Chris and I have been able to manage to have an open and trusting relationship. That he didn't assume the worst, that I was trying to take Zack away from him or make some kind of parenting power play. He just knows that I am our divided family's economic engine, and that it's in all of our best interests that I be able to find a place I can still save some money for Zack's future. 

See? In divorce it sometimes simply isn't about the Who Wins? Sometimes it's simply about What Makes The Most Sense. I wish all of you the ability to get to that place with your own ex. It takes time, but the rewards are deep and wide.

I've recently started a new job, as editor of a new channel at BlogHer.com called BlogHerMoms. It's a pretty amazing job, because I spend all day reading women's stories about their lives that they've posted on the internet, and choose a few to feature.

Today I came across a piece that made me laugh, not just because it was funny, but because it described pretty much what had happened to me when my husband and I first separated. All our marriages and all our divorces may be different, but some things—like other people's ham-handed curiosity—are the same for us all. 

Here's a snippet of the piece, written by Tara of Do These Kids Make Me Look Crazy?  Click through the read the rest on her site. It's worth it!

Sometimes I Say Stupid Things. And By "I", I Mean You.

I'm the queen of saying stupid things. Like last summer when I inadvertently implied that a friend was pregnant when she wasn't and everyone congratulation her because she was starting to "show." Or that time when I called my friend's new boyfriend by her ex-boyfriend's name at his own birthday party. Or yesterday, when I referred to a coworker's daughter as a son despite the fact that a picture of the child is on her desk, and she has a bow in her hair.

It stands to reason, therefore, that karma felt compelled to taunt me after my husband and I separated a few months ago. Apparently, it was my turn to be the recipient of tactless questions and commentary. And because I prefer to think that I'm not alone in this experience, I asked my Facebook friends to chime in with their own sad tales. Here are some of my favorites.

Maybe you should try harder. (Let's see, it's been nearly a year, our counseling bill is higher than our mortgage payment, we've both lost ten pounds, and we still can't speak to one another without tears or arguing.)

We never liked him anyway. Really? Like, you all sat around and talked about how you didn't like him and it didnt' feel at all disloyal to me? Awesome.

So, when are you going to start dating? Um, it's Wednesday. He moved out Saturday. I'd answer you, but I'm crying really ahrd and the children keep pulling on my pant leg asking for Daddy.

CLICK HERE TO READ THE REST

Is this parade of ridiculous comments familiar to you? Have any other good ones to add? I promise that with a few years' time, even these insanely rude comments get funny.

It's finally happened, something I never, ever would wish for: A dear, close friend of mine, whom I've known since I was officially a kid, has decided she must leave her marriage.

I am happy to be able to be her guide, to lend my steadying arm, to have at the ready all the things you have to learn as you go through divorce, and then never need again. I hope I can save her some time, some fluster, help her find her way to her answers faster, with less confusion and panic. 

I may be an advocate for finding a graceful way to let go in divorce. I may believe that I can help people choose the least damaging path when they fall apart.

But that will never, ever mean that I am blasé when I hear the news of another breakup.

Life is fragile. Hande with care. A moment of silence, please.

Another thing about this father's holiday is.... well, you know, Zack has a second father figure in his life: my boyfriend, who lives with us, and has lived with us for more than a year.

Frankly, I have to admit I'm still amazed that this is allowed to happen. The fact that I could meet a man who loved me *and* my son, and who agreed to take us both on (of course, without his even knowing what was in store for us just weeks after he moved in, but that's another story unrelated to divorce, and you'll have to go here to read about it), just seems like an impossibly lovely occurance. But if I learned anything from my divorce, it's to stop expecting that you have any idea when the good and the bad will make their grand entrances in your life. They don't really care about our schedules, it turns out. So you just have to say howdy and pull up a chair when they decide to visit. 

The process of Zack and my boyfriend's getting used to each other was an amazing thing to watch. In my case, my boyfriend was more reserved about making the connection than was my son, being worried about overstepping his bounds. But Zack's like me: a big, sloppy wet-kiss puppy waiting to love any creature in an 8-foot radius. So Zack learned to adjust to his slower pace, stopped draping his body all over D's, waited for all the signals to align. One night as I was putting Zack to bed, he said to me, "Mom, D------ doesn't love out loud like we do." Exactly. But the important part was, clearly he was feeling D's love anyway.

So Zack has spent a lot of time investing in the language of ownership. Last year at the 1st grade school picnic, he screamed delightedly when D showed up, "My mom's boyfriend is here! My mom's boyfriend is here!" I blushed, because something about the nomenclature made me feel like D and I had just escaped our love nest, with the hot blush of nookie still on our faces. A few weeks later, Zack said he wanted us to get married, especially because we had a family trip to Hawaii coming up. (I don't know how he knew, but he said, "Hawaii's perfect for a wedding! You can get married on the beach!") He also admitted, when I asked him to tell me more about what he was feeling, that he didn't like calling him "my mom's boyfriend," he said. It wasn't like everyone else. But what I really think was going on is that that term didn't capture Zack's very own relationship with my boyfriend; Zack, ever a wordsmith, knew he wasn't included in that language.

So when we were in Hawaii, we got sent a little piece of grace, in the form of a sprite-like 4-year-old blonde charmer in a flowered bikini who struck up a conversation with Zack in the pool. She said, "Is that your daddy over there?" And Zack said, without hesitation, "No, that's not my dad. He's back in Brooklyn. But he's like my stepdad." I quickly hid my face behind my puzzle book, so Zack wouldn't know I was listening, and I threw an elbow in D's ribs to make sure he was catching it. Then the little girl said, "I have TWO daddies. And we live in Atlanta." Zack said, "Oh, cool." And the two of them paddled and splashed around the stairs until, sure enough, the darling girl's second father showed up, and jumped into the pool to swim with her.

We've had many more "stepdad" and "parent" incidents since then, but each one stil feels like a totally original pearl, a thing of beauty born out of heartbreak and hard times. On Memorial Day weekend, D was trying to teach Zack how to ride a bike. Pedal-pedal-fall over; pedal-pedal-fall over. I was standing by, guarding a stair railing that might impale Zack if he tipped in the wrong place. Z fell over again, this time the pedal scraping his leg as he went down. Indignant and furious, he stood up and said, "You two are the worst parents EVER! I'm calling the police on you!" before he started walking back toward the bike.

D and I just raised our eyebrows at each other, before Zack could see it, and Zack walked over to the bike desipte his anger, and got on and tried again, content that two terrible parents were helping him through this rite of passage. 

I'm posting a picture of my son and his third parent (though my boyfriend would be very unhappy about it), because I wanted you to see their expressions. You can't make this stuff up. Which, it turns out, is the truly great part about it.