Sweet 16

Your 16th birthday is commonly accepted as your “coming of age.”

It started in the Victorian Era, when at 16 years, young people were presented to society in hope of finding a suitable spouse...

Can you imagine?

As horrifying as the history of Sweet 16 is, I fondly recall the joyful anticipation of my 16th birthday.

I scheduled 30-days out (because you weren’t allowed to schedule earlier than 30-days out) for the very first driver’s test at the DMV that morning. I knew I was an excellent driver, but regardless, my palms were sweaty, my heart pumped with adrenaline and my mind raced in doubt. The tester marked me off one point for failing to turn my wheels when I completed a parallel park. He said the road had an incline (it was a flat street, but who am I to argue with Mr. DMV?).

One mark off from a perfect score.

I had never known a greater feeling than when I passed my driver’s test. Back in my day, getting your driver’s license marked our coming of age. A coming out. Freedom. Sweet, sweet 16...

Today is our anniversary.

You guessed it, it’s our Sweet 16.

And it’s been one for the history books.

More than any year to date, this 16th year has been a coming out of different sort. Coming out of a lot of bad habits, things we’ve been aware of and cycled through for years — his stuff, and my own.

It’s been downright ugly, and difficult, and scary...

But there’s something sweet about it, too.

Facing, wrestling with, and determining to put in the hard work to end the bad stuff that’s kept you in childish cycles sucks.

It’s terrifying enough to do on your own, but doing the work together — knowing that ultimately I have no control in the decision he makes, yet and still his decisions are going to impact me (and vice versa) —

To put it plainly, that’s the stuff divorces are made of.

That pressure either rips you apart, or fuses you together.

I’m grateful to say that as of today, we’re closer than we’ve ever been.

And that makes today pretty sweet.

Cheers to Sweet 16.