Love Thyself, Divorce Thyself

Once upon a time, in a world surprisingly similar to our own (perhaps too similar for comfort), lived Ann. Ann was a charismatic person, full of life and ambition. There was just one problem: Ann was absolutely sick and tired of Ann.

“Listen, Self, we need to talk,” Ann started one day, staring into the mirror, lips pursed in a way that indicated serious business was about to go down.

“What’s up, gorgeous?” Ann responded, forcing a smile that was far from convincing.

“You know how we promised to stick with each other through thick and thin? Well, I think we’ve reached peak thickness. And the thin part? Not so much.”

Ann sighed, “You’re not happy with me, are you?”

“Would I be holding a self-intervention if I was? Look, we have to divorce. I can’t stand waking up next to you anymore. You snore too loudly. And let’s not talk about your Netflix choices.”

“Hey, ‘Tiger King’ is a cultural experience!”

“It’s trash, Ann, and so is your habit of not refilling the coffee jar.”

“Alright, fine! So how do we go about this? Do we split the assets? Who gets custody of the houseplants?”

“Well, considering we are the same person, I propose we split everything 50/50, right down the middle. Including the houseplants.”

“So one of us gets the aloe and the other the cactus?”

“No, we cut them in half, you nincompoop. It’s the fairest way.”

And so, after an intense negotiation involving lawyers who were extremely confused yet highly entertained, Ann and Ann parted ways. Half a cactus and a halved aloe plant sat on the windowsills of their respective new places, standing as prickly monuments to a love affair with oneself gone awry.

Ann even sent a divorce party invitation to Ann, but neither of them showed up — perhaps the only time they were ever on the same page about something.

The newly divorced Ann found freedom exhilarating. No more arguing over which takeout to order. No more fighting for control over the Spotify playlist. It was a solo act now, and the world was Ann’s stage.

But as time passed, Ann realized that being alone meant having to face oneself, which was precisely what Ann had been running from. “Oh shoot, what if I was the love of my life?” Ann pondered, staring longingly at the halved cactus.

The moral of the story? Be careful when you decide to divorce yourself. Sure, you might get half of everything, but you might just lose a whole lot more — like your better half, even if it’s you.

And that’s how Ann learned the most complicated relationship you’ll ever have is with yourself, and maybe, just maybe, that’s the one worth fighting for.