Self-Care for Divorce Recovery: 10 Healing Practices for New Beginnings

The day the divorce was finalized, I expected to feel something definitive — relief, sadness, freedom, grief. I felt all of them simultaneously and none of them completely. The marriage ended with a signature, but the unmaking of the person I had been inside that marriage — that unmaking was just beginning.

Here is what the divorce is doing that the paperwork does not describe.

The paperwork describes the division — the assets split, the custody arranged, the legal dissolution of the contract that the marriage represented. The paperwork does not describe the other dissolution: the dissolution of the identity that the marriage created, the routines that the partnership sustained, the future that the commitment promised, and the self that was constructed, over years or decades, within the architecture of a relationship that no longer exists.

The dissolution is not a single event. The dissolution is a process — a progressive, disorienting, exhausting unraveling of the assumptions, the habits, the roles, and the identity structures that the marriage provided. The person who was “wife” or “husband” or “partner” must now determine who they are without the title. The person who planned in terms of “we” must now plan in terms of “I.” The person whose daily routine was shaped by the partnership’s rhythm must now create a rhythm from nothing — and the nothing is vast, and the nothing is silent, and the nothing is the specific, terrifying freedom that no one asked for.

The culture does not adequately support the divorce recovery. The culture provides the legal framework (attorneys, mediators, courts) and the emotional shorthand (“I’m sorry” and “you’ll be okay”) but does not provide the sustained, practical, daily support that the rebuilding of an entire life requires. The rebuilding is not a weekend. The rebuilding is months, sometimes years, of grieving what was lost, releasing what was harmful, rediscovering what remains, and constructing what will be.

This article is about 10 specific self-care practices for the rebuilding — daily, weekly, and ongoing habits that support the person inside the divorce recovery: the person who is grieving and growing simultaneously, who is ending and beginning at the same time, who is both falling apart and putting themselves back together in the same breath.

The practices are not fixes. The practices are foundations — the daily investments in the physical, emotional, and psychological infrastructure that the new life requires. The old life had infrastructure. The divorce demolished it. The practices rebuild it — one day, one habit, one small act of self-care at a time.

The new beginning does not arrive finished. The new beginning arrives as raw material.

These practices are how you build.

1. Grieve Without a Timeline — The Healing Has Its Own Clock

The grief of divorce is not a lesser grief — it is a compound grief: the grief of the relationship’s death, the grief of the future that will not occur, the grief of the daily presence that is now absence, the grief of the family structure that has fractured, and the grief of the identity that was constructed within the marriage and that the divorce has dismantled. The compound grief does not follow a schedule. The compound grief does not resolve in stages. The compound grief arrives in waves — the Tuesday afternoon wave that strikes without warning, the holiday wave that strikes with precision, the three AM wave that arrives in the silence the marriage used to fill.

The practice is the permission: permission to grieve without a deadline, without a timeline, without the cultural pressure that says you should be “over it” by now. The grief takes the time the grief takes. The time is not a measure of weakness. The time is a measure of the depth of what was lost — and the depth was real, even if the marriage was not working, even if the divorce was the right decision, even if the ending was necessary.

Real-life example: Grieving without a timeline saved Miriam’s recovery — a recovery that the cultural timeline had been sabotaging. The cultural timeline: six months. The cultural expectation: by six months, the grief should be resolving, the new life should be emerging, the “moving on” should be visible. Miriam reached the six-month mark still deep in the grief. The expectation that she should be further along produced a secondary suffering — the shame of grieving “too long,” the self-criticism for not recovering “fast enough.”

Her therapist removed the timeline: “The grief is not behind schedule. The grief is on its own schedule. The marriage was fourteen years. The unmaking of what fourteen years built does not follow a six-month calendar. The grief will tell you when it is done. Your job is not to hurry it. Your job is to tend it.”

“The permission to grieve on the grief’s timeline was the most important thing my therapist gave me,” Miriam says. “The cultural timeline was adding shame to the grief — the shame of not being over it yet, of still crying at month eight, of still feeling the loss at month twelve. The therapist removed the shame. The grief, unshamed, was bearable. The grief, shamed, was crushing.”

2. Protect Your Physical Health — The Body Is Grieving Too

The body grieves. The divorce produces measurable, documented physiological stress: elevated cortisol, disrupted sleep architecture, suppressed immune function, altered appetite (either diminished or compulsive), and the specific physical exhaustion that the sustained emotional crisis produces. The body that is navigating a divorce is a body under siege — the stress response activated chronically, the recovery systems impaired, and the physical health deteriorating in the margins while the emotional crisis occupies the foreground.

The practice is the protection of three physical anchors: sleep (seven to eight hours, protected as non-negotiable even when the mind resists), nutrition (at least two proper meals per day, even when the appetite is absent or compulsive), and movement (a daily walk, a daily stretch, any physical activity that the body can sustain). The anchors do not heal the grief. The anchors prevent the physical collapse that the unmanaged grief can produce.

Real-life example: Protecting physical health prevented Dario’s collapse — a collapse that the first three months of the divorce had been building toward. The trajectory: sleep declining to four to five hours (the three AM rumination consuming the rest), nutrition reduced to coffee and whatever was available (the appetite destroyed by the cortisol), and movement eliminated (the energy consumed by the emotional crisis leaving nothing for the physical). The trajectory was producing: weight loss, immune suppression (two colds in two months), and the physical exhaustion that compounded the emotional exhaustion.

His physician intervened: “The divorce is an emotional crisis. The emotional crisis is producing a physical crisis. The physical crisis will become a medical crisis if the body does not receive sleep, food, and movement. The body cannot grieve if the body collapses.”

The protection was structural: a sleep routine enforced at ten-thirty regardless of the mind’s resistance. Two meals per day, prepared in advance on Sundays (the decision fatigue eliminated). A twenty-minute walk every morning. The structures were not healing. The structures were prevention — the minimum physical maintenance that kept the body functional while the emotional rebuilding occurred.

“The physician said my body was heading for a medical crisis,” Dario says. “The divorce was destroying my body because I was letting the grief consume the sleep, the food, and the movement that the body needed to survive the grief. The three anchors — sleep, nutrition, movement — did not fix the emotional pain. The three anchors kept the body alive while the emotional pain was processed.”

3. Build a Support Circle — You Cannot Rebuild Alone

The divorce isolates — through the loss of mutual friends (who may choose sides or withdraw), through the shame that many divorcing people feel (which suppresses the help-seeking the crisis demands), and through the specific loneliness of returning to an empty home after years of partnership. The isolation compounds the grief. The isolation must be actively countered — not with the quantity of contacts but with the quality of a few trusted people who can provide what the different dimensions of the crisis require.

The practice is the deliberate construction of a support circle: one person for emotional support (a friend, a sibling, a therapist — someone with whom the full, unfiltered emotional truth can be shared), one person for practical support (someone who can help with logistics — childcare, household tasks, the practical demands that the newly single person must now handle alone), and one person for perspective (someone further down the divorce recovery road who can provide the experiential assurance that the crisis is survivable).

Real-life example: The support circle sustained Garrison through the eighteen months of active recovery — eighteen months during which the emotional, practical, and existential demands of the divorce exceeded what a single person could manage alone. The circle: his sister (emotional support — the person he called at midnight when the grief was loudest), his neighbor (practical support — who took the children on the evenings when the overwhelm made parenting impossible), and a coworker who had divorced three years earlier (perspective — the living evidence that the crisis was survivable and that the other side existed).

“The support circle was the infrastructure the marriage used to provide,” Garrison says. “The marriage handled the emotional support, the practical division of labor, and the perspective that partnership provides. The divorce removed the infrastructure. The support circle rebuilt it — imperfectly, with different people filling different roles, but functionally. The circle kept me standing during the months I could not stand alone.”

4. Get Professional Support — Therapy Is Not Optional

The divorce recovery benefits from professional support — not as a luxury for the severely struggling but as a standard, recommended, evidence-based practice for everyone navigating the dissolution of a significant relationship. The divorce therapist provides what the support circle cannot: clinical expertise in grief processing, identity reconstruction, co-parenting navigation, and the specific, complex emotional challenges (anger, guilt, shame, fear, relief, ambivalence — often simultaneously) that the divorce produces.

The practice is the engagement of a therapist — ideally one with specific experience in divorce recovery — at the beginning of the process rather than as a crisis response after the emotional deterioration has advanced. The therapy is preventive as much as it is healing: the processing that occurs in therapy prevents the unprocessed emotions from producing the depression, the anxiety, and the maladaptive coping (substance use, rebound relationships, parental alienation) that unprocessed divorce grief can generate.

Real-life example: Therapy changed Adela’s divorce recovery from survival to growth — a distinction she credits to the therapist who helped her process not only the grief of the divorce but the patterns in the marriage that the divorce revealed. The processing was not just: how do I survive this loss? The processing was also: what do I understand now about myself, about the relationship patterns I was participating in, about the needs I was suppressing, and about the person I want to become in the next chapter?

“The therapy was not just about surviving the divorce,” Adela says. “The therapy was about understanding the divorce — what the marriage was, what the marriage was not, what I contributed to its dysfunction, and what I need to change to not repeat the patterns in the next relationship. The understanding was the foundation of the growth. The divorce without the therapy would have been a loss. The divorce with the therapy became a loss and a lesson.”

5. Create New Daily Routines — Structure the Empty Space

The divorce removes the daily structure that the partnership provided — the morning routine shaped by two people, the evening routine coordinated around shared responsibilities, the weekend rhythm of the family unit. The removal produces the void — the unstructured, shapeless, overwhelmingly empty time that the newly single person must now fill with a routine created from nothing. The void is not freedom (although it will become freedom eventually). The void is disorientation — the absence of the structure that the daily life depended on.

The practice is the deliberate creation of new daily routines — not the recreation of the marriage’s routines but the construction of routines that belong to the new life, the new identity, the new “I” that is emerging from the “we.” The routines provide the structure that the mind needs to function: a morning routine (anchoring the day’s beginning), an evening routine (anchoring the day’s end), and at least one daily activity that is chosen, not obligated — a walk, a class, a practice that belongs to the new life rather than the old.

Real-life example: New routines rebuilt Serena’s sense of self — a self that the marriage’s routines had so thoroughly integrated that the divorce produced a specific, identity-level disorientation: who am I in the morning without the partnership’s morning? The previous morning: coordinated with the spouse — coffee together, breakfast with children, the shared rhythm of two people preparing for the day. The new morning: silence, empty kitchen, the absence of the person who had occupied the other chair for eleven years.

The new routine was built deliberately: a morning walk (alone, before the children woke), coffee in a new mug (the symbolic break from the shared dishes), journaling (the processing time that the marriage had not required). The routine was not the marriage’s routine. The routine was hers — constructed from the activities that the new life was introducing and that the married life had not contained.

“The new morning routine was the first thing that felt like mine,” Serena says. “The marriage’s morning belonged to us. The divorce left the morning belonging to no one. The new routine claimed the morning for me — the walk, the new mug, the journaling. The routine was small. The routine was mine. The ‘mine’ was the foundation.”

6. Rediscover Your Identity — Who Are You Without the Marriage?

The identity practice is the deliberate exploration of the self that exists beyond the married identity — the interests, the preferences, the dreams, the personality traits, and the values that the marriage may have overshadowed, suppressed, or absorbed. The exploration is not a reinvention (you are not starting from nothing). The exploration is a recovery — the recovery of the aspects of yourself that existed before the marriage and that the marriage’s compromises, adaptations, and identity merges may have obscured.

The practice is the exploration: What did I enjoy before the marriage? What interests did I set aside for the partnership? What dreams did I defer? What parts of my personality were suppressed to maintain the relationship’s equilibrium? The exploration is not blame (the compromises may have been mutual and reasonable). The exploration is discovery — the deliberate attention to the self that the marriage’s demands did not allow.

Real-life example: Rediscovering identity returned Tobias to music — the guitar, the songwriting, the creative practice that the marriage had progressively displaced. The displacement was not the spouse’s demand. The displacement was the accumulation of partnership compromises: the time that went to the children, the energy that went to the household, the identity that narrowed to “husband” and “father” until “musician” had been absent for so long that Tobias had forgotten it was part of him.

The guitar came out of the closet three months after the divorce. The first chord was physical — the fingers stiff, the calluses gone. The first chord was also emotional — the specific, tearful recognition of a part of himself that had been alive and was now being recovered from the years of neglect.

“The guitar was me before the marriage,” Tobias says. “The marriage did not take the guitar away. The marriage’s demands accumulated until the guitar was buried under the responsibilities, the compromises, the identity of husband-and-father that left no room for musician. The divorce — the terrible, devastating divorce — cleared the accumulation. The guitar emerged from the clearing. The guitar was me. I had forgotten.”

7. Establish Financial Self-Care — Money Is Emotional During Divorce

The financial dimension of divorce is emotional as much as it is practical — the division of assets producing grief (the home lost), fear (the security reduced), anger (the inequity perceived), and the specific anxiety that financial uncertainty produces in a person whose financial life was previously shared. The financial self-care practice addresses both dimensions: the practical (creating a budget, understanding the new financial reality) and the emotional (processing the feelings that the financial changes produce).

The practice is financial clarity: a clear, honest, complete understanding of the post-divorce financial situation — income, expenses, debts, assets, and the budget that the new reality requires. The clarity is the foundation: the unknown is more frightening than the known, and the financial unknown that many divorcing people avoid (because the knowing feels overwhelming) produces more anxiety than the knowing would.

Real-life example: Financial self-care transformed Vivian’s relationship with money — a relationship that the marriage had organized around the spouse’s earning and decision-making and that the divorce had transferred entirely to Vivian for the first time. The transfer was terrifying: Vivian had not managed the household finances during the marriage. The post-divorce financial reality — a single income, new expenses, the need for budgeting — was an unfamiliar landscape that produced daily anxiety.

The practice was a session with a financial counselor who specialized in divorce transition: a complete inventory of income, expenses, debts, and assets. The inventory produced the clarity the anxiety was preventing: the situation was tight but manageable. The budget was constructed. The unknowns became knowns. The knowns were less frightening than the unknowns had been.

“The financial counselor turned the financial terror into a spreadsheet,” Vivian says. “The terror was the unknown — how much do I have, how much do I need, can I survive on my own? The spreadsheet answered the questions. The answers were not comfortable but they were clear. The clarity replaced the terror. The terror had been worse than the reality.”

8. Set Boundaries With Your Ex — Protect the Healing Space

The boundary practice addresses the specific challenge of ending a relationship with a person who may still be present in your life — through co-parenting, through mutual social circles, through the unfinished business that the divorce may not have fully resolved. The continued presence requires boundaries — the clear, maintained, non-negotiable limits on communication, on emotional engagement, and on the access that the former partner has to the psychological space the healing requires.

The practice is the establishment and enforcement of specific boundaries: communication limited to necessary logistics (co-parenting, financial matters), emotional conversations redirected to therapists rather than conducted between the former partners, and the specific protection of the healing space from the intrusion that unbounded contact with the former partner produces.

Real-life example: Boundaries with her ex preserved Quinn’s healing — healing that the unbounded communication was sabotaging. The pattern: every logistical communication about the children devolved into emotional re-litigation of the marriage. The re-litigation reopened the wounds the therapy was closing. The wounds, reopened, required additional healing that the next communication would re-sabotage.

The boundary was specific: communication by text or email only, limited to the children’s logistics, with a twenty-four-hour response window (eliminating the real-time emotional escalation that phone calls produced). Emotional topics were deflected: “That is a conversation for our therapists, not for us.”

“The boundary stopped the reopening,” Quinn says. “Every phone call was an excavation — digging up the marriage, the grievances, the pain. The boundary — text only, logistics only, no emotional content — sealed the excavation site. The healing could proceed because the wounds were no longer being reopened three times per week.”

9. Practice Radical Self-Compassion — You Did Not Fail at Being Human

The divorce produces shame — the specific, identity-level shame that says: I failed. The marriage failed, therefore I failed. The commitment was broken, therefore I am broken. The shame is culturally reinforced (“the divorce rate” discussed as a moral failure), socially expressed (the awkward silence, the dropped invitation, the pity), and internally amplified (the replaying of every decision, every argument, every moment that might have changed the outcome).

The practice is radical self-compassion — the deliberate, sustained, daily application of the same kindness, understanding, and grace to yourself that you would offer a beloved friend navigating the same crisis. The compassion is not the denial of your contribution to the marriage’s difficulties (accountability is part of growth). The compassion is the refusal to reduce yourself to the failure — the insistence that you are a whole human being who experienced a relationship that ended, not a failure who was unable to sustain a commitment.

Real-life example: Radical self-compassion changed Emmett’s internal narrative — a narrative that the first year of the divorce had written entirely in the language of failure. The narrative: I failed as a husband. I failed as a partner. I broke the promise. The children are suffering because I was insufficient. The narrative was self-punishment — the internalization of the marriage’s end as a personal inadequacy rather than the ending of a relationship that had ceased to function.

His therapist introduced the compassion reframe: “Would you tell your best friend that he was a failure because his marriage ended? Would you tell him that his children’s suffering was entirely his fault? Would you reduce him to the worst outcome of his life?”

The answer was no. The compassion that Emmett would have readily offered a friend was the compassion he was refusing to offer himself.

“The self-compassion was the hardest practice,” Emmett says. “Harder than the grief. Harder than the therapy. The compassion required telling myself the truth that I would have told any friend: the marriage ended. The ending does not make you a failure. The ending makes you a person who experienced something painful. The person deserves compassion. The person has always deserved compassion.”

10. Envision the Next Chapter — The Ending Is Also a Beginning

The final practice is the deliberate, hopeful, vision-oriented practice of imagining the life that the divorce is making possible — not as a denial of the grief but as a companion to the grief. The grief says: look at what was lost. The vision says: look at what is now possible. Both are true simultaneously. The grief and the vision are not in opposition. The grief honors what was. The vision honors what will be. The recovery requires both.

The practice is the visioning: journaling, visualization, or conversation about the life that the next chapter will contain. What do you want? Not what the marriage wanted. Not what the spouse wanted. Not what the family expected. What do you want — for your days, your relationships, your career, your home, your identity, your life? The question is enormous. The question is also, for many divorcing people, the first time the question has been asked — the first time the “I want” has been explored without the “we want” that the marriage required.

Real-life example: Envisioning the next chapter gave Leonie the direction the grief had been obscuring — the direction that emerged when the question “what do I want?” was finally asked without the filter of the marriage’s compromises. The marriage had been built around the spouse’s career — the cities chosen for his opportunities, the social life organized around his colleagues, the daily rhythm dictated by his schedule. The wants that Leonie had suppressed — the city she preferred, the career she had deferred, the lifestyle she had imagined — had been suppressed so long they required excavation.

The journaling practice produced the excavation: thirty minutes per week, the question “what do I want?” answered without censorship, without practicality, without the filter that the marriage had installed. The answers emerged gradually — not the complete vision in a single session but the slow, progressive revelation of the person Leonie was becoming, freed from the person the marriage had required her to be.

“The journaling showed me a person I had been suppressing for fifteen years,” Leonie says. “The person who wanted to live in the mountains. The person who wanted to teach. The person who wanted a small, quiet life rather than the ambitious, social, city life the marriage had organized around. The divorce was devastating. The divorce was also the liberation of the person I had been hiding. The journaling brought her out. The next chapter is hers.”

The New Beginning Is Under Construction

Ten practices. Ten daily, weekly, and ongoing investments in the person who is emerging from the ending — the person who is simultaneously grieving what was lost and building what will be.

Grieve without a timeline. Protect the body. Build the circle. Get the therapy. Create the routines. Rediscover the identity. Establish the finances. Set the boundaries. Practice the compassion. Envision the chapter.

The practices do not make the divorce painless. Nothing makes the divorce painless — the pain is the evidence of the depth of what was built and the significance of what was lost. The practices make the divorce survivable. The practices make the person who survives the divorce stronger, more self-aware, more whole than the person who entered the marriage — not despite the pain but through it.

The ending is real. The beginning is also real. The ending and the beginning are happening simultaneously — the grief and the growth occupying the same body, the same days, the same life. The practices hold both — the grief tended, the growth supported, the person sustained through the transition from one chapter to the next.

The old chapter is closing. The new chapter is open — blank, unwritten, waiting for the person you are becoming to pick up the pen.

The pen is in your hand. The page is yours.

Write.

20 Powerful and Uplifting Quotes About Divorce Recovery

“The marriage ended with a signature. The unmaking of the person I had been was just beginning.”
“The permission to grieve on the grief’s timeline was the most important thing my therapist gave me.”
“The body cannot grieve if the body collapses.”
“The support circle was the infrastructure the marriage used to provide.”
“The therapy was not just about surviving the divorce. It was about understanding the divorce.”
“The new morning routine was the first thing that felt like mine.”
“The guitar was me before the marriage. The divorce cleared the accumulation.”
“The financial counselor turned the terror into a spreadsheet.”
“The boundary stopped the reopening.”
“The self-compassion was the hardest practice — harder than the grief.”
“The journaling showed me a person I had been suppressing for fifteen years.”
“The ending is real. The beginning is also real.”
“The divorce without the therapy would have been a loss. With the therapy it became a loss and a lesson.”
“The void is not freedom yet. But it will become freedom.”
“The grief and the growth occupy the same body.”
“The old chapter is closing. The new chapter is open.”
“Who am I in the morning without the partnership’s morning?”
“The marriage ended. You did not fail at being human.”
“The pen is in your hand. The page is yours.”
“The new beginning does not arrive finished. It arrives as raw material.”

Picture This

You are standing in a doorway. Behind you is the house — the house that held the marriage, the years, the mornings and evenings and ordinary moments that composed the life you shared with another person. The house is not empty. The house is full — full of the memories, the routines, the arguments and reconciliations, the laughter and the silence, the fourteen or eleven or twenty-three years of building something that was real and that is now over.

You are standing in the doorway because the house is behind you and the outside is ahead of you. The outside is vast. The outside is unstructured. The outside does not have the walls that the house provided — the walls that were sometimes confining and sometimes protective and always present, defining the space you lived in, shaping the person you became inside them.

The outside has no walls. The outside has no shape — not yet. The shape will come. The shape will be built by the practices — the daily routines, the new identity, the support circle, the financial clarity, the boundaries, the compassion, the vision. The practices are the building materials. The new life is the construction.

But right now, standing in the doorway, the construction has not begun. Right now there is only the threshold — the specific, terrifying, beautiful moment of standing between what was and what will be. The grief is behind you, in the house. The possibility is in front of you, in the open air. Both are real. Both are present. Both are asking for your attention.

Take a breath. The breath is yours — not the marriage’s breath, not the partnership’s coordinated exhale, but your breath, your lungs, your body standing in a doorway that only you can walk through.

Step. Not away from the grief — the grief will walk with you, will accompany you through the doorway and into the new life, will settle into the architecture of the person you are becoming. Step toward the beginning — the raw, unfinished, unwritten beginning that the ending has made possible.

The doorway is here. The step is available. The new chapter is waiting.

Step through. The building begins on the other side.

Share This Article

If these practices have supported your rebuilding — or if you are standing in the doorway right now and the step feels impossible — please share this article. Share it because divorce recovery is one of the most common and least supported human experiences, and the person navigating it deserves more than “you’ll be okay.”

Here is how you can help spread the word:

Share it on Facebook with the practice that sustained your recovery. “The permission to grieve without a timeline changed everything” or “the new morning routine was the first thing that felt like mine” — personal testimony reaches the person who is in the doorway right now.
Post it on Instagram — stories, feed, or a DM. Divorce recovery content reaches people in the specific, private, often-silent struggle that the social media feeds do not show.
Share it on Twitter/X to reach someone who thinks the grief should be over by now. They need Practice One: the grief has its own clock.
Pin it on Pinterest where it will remain discoverable for anyone searching for divorce recovery, healing after divorce, or self-care during divorce.
Send it directly to someone navigating a divorce. Not with advice. With presence. A text that says “the ending is real and the beginning is also real — here are ten ways to hold both” might be the most caring message they receive this week.

The doorway is there. The step is available. Help someone take it.

Disclaimer

This article is intended solely for informational, educational, and inspirational purposes. All content presented within this article — including the divorce recovery practices, healing strategies, personal stories, examples, and quotes — is based on personal experiences, commonly shared insights from the psychology, divorce recovery, and personal development communities, and general psychology, grief counseling, family therapy, and personal wellness knowledge that is widely available. The stories, names, and examples used throughout this article are representative of real experiences commonly shared within the divorce recovery and wellness communities. Some identifying details, names, locations, and specific circumstances may have been altered, combined, or fictionalized to protect the privacy and anonymity of individuals.

Nothing in this article is intended to serve as medical advice, legal advice, financial advice, clinical guidance, professional counseling, or a substitute for the care and expertise of a licensed healthcare provider, psychologist, licensed therapist, family law attorney, certified financial planner, or any other qualified professional. Divorce involves complex legal, financial, psychological, and relational dimensions that benefit from professional guidance specific to your individual circumstances.

If you are experiencing persistent depression, anxiety, thoughts of self-harm, substance use issues, or any mental health crisis during or after divorce, please consult with a qualified mental health professional. The 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline (call or text 988) is available twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

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