I threw a divorce party with bubbly, my closest friends and dancing

Standing in a lipstick red dress and making a tearful speech to my closest friends, I realised how thankful I was to my bestie, Stephanie.

It had been just another evening in a pub garden two months earlier when she nonchalantly asked: ‘So, when are you throwing your divorce party?’

Taken aback, I snapped: ‘I don’t want one.’

After all, the ink on my decree absolute – which finalised my divorce – was barely dry, having been granted just weeks earlier.

My first thought at the prospect of a soiree filled me with worry. I was fearful someone might spill red wine on my new rug. Who was this bore I’d turned into?

Stephanie steadfastly rejected my refusal to celebrate. As I said no to each of her suggestions, I realised each of my reasons for not wanting to mark my divorce were weaker than the last.

And so the seeds for a celebration were planted. It wasn’t long before anxiety bubbled to the surface as I asked myself who would come?

Since splitting from my ex, my friendship circle has changed massively. Many of our previous couple friends had more in common with him, and others left for pastures new during the pandemic. 

I still sometimes had one too many glasses of vino with my girlfriends, but it had become more troublesome to feel good about it the next day.

Sure, my age played a part (I’m 18 months shy of the big 4-0), but I knew how isolating it was when you’re combating the Sunday scaries solo. Most of my friends have their partners or family at home, or nearby – whereas my family is an ocean away in the US, or at best, seven hours behind for a call.

Thankfully, Steph and other close friends reminded me they had my back, and that an endless supply of hugs were on the menu for the evening. No spilt wine or my atrocious attempts at salsa dancing were going to change that.

So, we set a date for what I called my ‘New Beginnings’ celebration. I didn’t want to toast the end of my marriage but instead the person I had become after my break-up.

Roughly four in 10 marriages end in divorce, Office for National Statistics data shows. And people wanting to celebrate a fresh start in life have turned the divorce party industry into one that earns millions of pounds a year.

Going into my marriage, I never dreamed that I would be hosting my own one day. 

It was 2007 when I first met my now ex-husband at a bar in Manhattan. We fell madly in love, moved in together after a few months, and spent the next 10 years together on both sides of the pond. He was not only my best friend, but my favourite person in the world.

Between a global recession and dual layoffs, to his father’s passing and mine being incarcerated, we had weathered some serious storms. But eventfully life got the better of us. 

Without consciously knowing it, we let the hardships of reality suffocate our marriage until it was too late.

If you had asked me at 28 how I thought my life would be 10 years later, I could have never anticipated what it is today

Our separation was pure agony. Overnight, I lost the man I loved, my friends, and any security I relied on being thousands of miles from home.

It was also a strange time to be single. I was in my mid-thirties without children, which flummoxed new friends and potential suitors. Many asked why I didn’t stick it out for a few more years to start a family. 

Others remarked that if I had just waited until my forties I’d have better luck finding a new partner, as divorces were more common at that age.

It seemed everyone had an opinion on divorce without having gone through it themselves.

My marriage may have unravelled, but my ex and I made the unorthodox decision to stay in each other’s lives. It wasn’t about being friends, but appreciating we were each other’s family.

In many ways, he showed up in more meaningful ways after our separation. A particularly touching moment came after I refused to leave my sofa following a break up with the first man I’d seen a future with since our marriage broke down. 

My ex came to my flat, brought sushi and suggested we go for a walk. His gesture was love in its purest form.

Still, last December, I was getting ready to throw a divorce party. I really should have spent more time thinking about food and decorations, but in all honesty, I was way too consumed with my new life. I’d moved flats, started a new job, and got officially declared single all in the space of eight weeks.

In the run up, people were bailing left, right and centre. I suppose the blame rested on the festive season, office parties, and hangovers from the most normal December we’ve had for years. 

But my biggest problem was figuring out what to wear. I wanted a dress that would make me feel more spectacular than the gown I wore on my wedding day, but finding something special was going to be a tall order.

The afternoon before the event, I escaped to my high street and tried on a bunch of sparkly numbers still left on the racks, but walked back towards my flat despondent. I left Steph a voice memo about how I felt like a bloated Glo Worm drenched in sequins.

Like the best friend she is, Steph trekked across London with a rucksack almost as big as her full of clothes. She pulled out this gorgeous red dress and it draped over me perfectly.

Fashion crisis averted, I was excited to see more and more RSVPs. The best of the best would be in attendance. 

These wonderful humans had carried me through the worst of my divorce saga, and there was no better way to celebrate the future than popping bottles of bubbly, dancing to George Michael, and laughing deliriously into the early morning hours.

I woke up the next day to a handful of them chatting in the next room, and I realised how brilliant this new life of mine was.

If you had asked me at 28 how I thought my life would be 10 years later, I could have never anticipated what it is today. 

But that’s the beautiful thing about life, it has an uncanny way of surprising you in the most spectacular of ways.

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