Author: Wong Vi Vian
Company: Boey & Khoo
Professional: Lawyer
Divorce — a word that sounds so harsh, so negative.
I used to look at divorce from the perspective of an executioner, ready to tear my clients’ hurtful spouses apart, piece by piece, because that was what I believed justice meant. Ten thousand cuts of pain for every injustice my clients endured. I would advise them to fight till the end — to get everything they deserved and destroy those who had destroyed their marriage.
After all, justice was why I chose law. Justice was equality.
I pain, you pain.
I die, you die.
I used to wonder how divorcing couples could ever separate amicably. How could anyone give in — or even let go of their rights under the law? To me, such people were simply weak.
That is, until I went through my own divorce.
I was a lawyer who handled countless divorce cases with passion and conviction. Yet when it was my turn to make that decision — to end my own marriage — I was the one who chose not to fight for my “rights.”
I decided to divorce just two months into the suffering, because every minute spent as his wife felt like living in hell.
“Why me?” I asked.
Why me, when I gave everything I had?
I thought divorce would end my suffering. So I left without a second thought, taking my precious boy and returning to my maternal home.
But did the suffering stop? No. It only deepened.
No one ever prepares you for what divorce truly entails. The self-blame that strikes when you look into your fatherless child’s face — the guilt of tearing him away from a complete family. The self-hatred when you stare into the mirror, seeing a woman you no longer recognize. A failed wife. An unworthy woman. A person who wasn’t good enough to be loved.
And then, when the emotional wounds are still raw, reality hits harder. The financial struggle begins. No one tells you how expensive survival is — when even tissues cost money, and tears feel wasteful. You no longer have the luxury to grieve. You can’t afford to feel. You stand up because you must. You survive because you have a child — and nobody will love or protect your child the way you do.
But when you send a wounded, bleeding soldier back to war, it’s only a matter of time before she collapses.
And that was what happened to me.
It took me a long time to realize — and to accept — that it’s okay to fail.
I am not weak for collapsing from grief.
I am not weak for seeking help to stand again, this time properly healed.
Now, I am taking the time to recreate myself — into someone I love. And I am grateful for everything that has happened, for it led me here.
My passion for divorce law still burns strong, but my perspective has transformed. I no longer see myself as an executioner for my clients. I see myself as a guide — a seeing-eye dog — escorting them through the death of their marriage as gently as possible. Watching out for them, helping them find closure, and walking with them toward rediscovering who they truly are.