I thought I had come of age several times over by the time I reached my 30s. After all, I had become a bat mitzvah, learning to read Torah and Haftorah and reciting prayers and speeches about my entry into adulthood as a Jew. I had gone through Confirmation at 16, taking part in a level of intellectual inquiry and analysis which surely brought my Jewishness to a more mature and sophisticated level. I had gotten married, for goodness sake! I wore a white dress and took solemn vows in front of God and my family, entering into a covenant according to the laws of Moses and Israel.
I had become a mother! I gave birth without drugs twice, and my second son was born in my home. I was ready to deliver him before my midwife even arrived. These particularly bold and life-affirming experiences felt like coming of age moments, for sure. I struggled with breastfeeding both of my sons but ultimately got the help and counseling I needed, and I was a competent and “good enough” mother to two sons. I thought I had come of age more times and in more ways than most!
Then, I got divorced. That wasn’t the coming of age moment, though. It’s what happened after the divorce: co-parenting with someone you used to live with but now is the person your sons live with 50% of the time.