Where Does The Good Go?

Jun 26, 2026

We have a divorced reddit thread. A friend told me. Wish it were a more exciting thread. Give me the juice. The salacious rumors.

Maybe it’s a case of rejecting object permanence, but I’m always fascinated by the ways parasocial relationships have infiltrated our lives. The first person who found out about Nick and I separating was actually the airbnb owner who Nick reached out to when we were looking for a place to offset our nesting arrangement.

And it’s not that I or Nick get recognized frequently, it’s the depth of recognition when people do that still catches me off guard. Ohh riight when people know us, they know a lot about us…And I know I know, whose fault is that? In the words of Chicago’s Cell Block Tango: (s)he had it coming!!

Now that we’re separated, Nick is starting to come home from dates with women who are familiar with me/him/us and intimate details about our lives. It’s a little weird and sometimes difficult to process. Hearing hints of their confusion as to whyyyy any sane person would surrender a man like Nick can feel like a shovel to my grave of shame. Digging deeper and deeper. I know he is a good one. Belieeeeve me, I know you’re getting the best of the best with him. The little dating I’ve done has further confirmed this conclusion which is so funnnnn :)

When I started going on dates, I actually avoided telling people my last name (stupid, i know). Not because I have anything to hide, but quite the opposite. What could be uncovered in ten minutes of casual research is quite alarming. I mean there are one or two guys who I’ve been on dates with here now (hiii) despite how I once aspired to keep this place silo’d for fear of stacking the cards up against me, you know? My inner world is on sale for $5/ month which can feel like a cheat way to learn a lot without much effort. Which can be both helpful and laaaame. I’d prefer to scare people off on my own time, not by way of internet sleuthing.

I’m not sure if I enjoy revealing incriminating details about my personal life or if it’s the yellow-bricked neural pathways of mine that does it so naturally. Like many of you, as a child, I hyper confessed in bishop’s offices. Journaled, chronically. Bore my testimony, often. For a stint, I was one of thooose kids who went up to the pulpit every month (eye roll). Dance monkey. And I did as I was passed around to other sacrament meetings to give youth talks.

As I’ve aged, I’ve been able to parse out how this lack of inhibition around sharing hinges on compulsion rather than revelation. A feature, not a bug of a performative, puritanical home like the church. Every member a missionary. It served me well in the church and ironically helped pave my way out. You may recall, when my deconstruction was fresh, I shared a loooooot. I churned content like it was a job or a fire that could only be extinguished by virtual witnessing. I wrote essays for captions and recorded IG stories whenever the creative lightning struck: early in the morning in my pj’s, between events, late at night in the dark. God, I blabbed a lot both online and in person.

One of the more notable was on our Mormons Stories episode. Whenever someone asks me for advice about going on Mormon Stories, I always tell them to set boundaries about what details the interview will touch and stick to a layout. I did neither of those things. Because if there are any other chronic confessors out there (which in mormon land, that’s a lot of you), that recording experience can take quite a big bite out of your psyche. And it did for me. Lights, camera, action. It only took a few minutes before the cameras Salvador Dali’d into the background and it was just me, Nick and John. Nothing was off the table or too personal to touch. The bishop-office reflex kicked in and I was ready to meet questions about my upbringing and orgasms without a glitch not thinking of my friends or family or the 128,000 people who’d later listen. I didn’t have the wherewithal to know how my oversharing would show up in this interview (me issue) and found myself in fetal for a few months after trying to warm myself back up after the vulnerability frostbite. I’m fine now and turns out a lot of people like hearing others talk about how bad they are at sex:) But, it was a learning curve and an incredibly voyeristic view into our marriage and extended family in a way many would never dream of offering. And I wish I could take some of that back.

Persistence of a Memory — Salvador Dali (or my experience while recording MS)

Since then, I know there are judgements in how I go about sharing.

I hear it in the tone of, “oh my spouse would never be cool with how much you share.” “Poor Nick.” “Wowwww that was a lot.” The running joke is I use Substack as a journal. And that’s not entirely wrong. I do. But, if there’s anything I do better than oversharing, I’d argue relational care might be on that list.

In truth, Nick and I managed to carve out quite a bit of safety in our marriage to the point that I still don’t believe anyone will ever love me as clearly or in high definition as Nick. Of cooourse we had our issues and conversations we’d wring dry but I felt fully, unapologetically loved by that man. It may be surprising to hear, but everything you’ve read here—up until recently—trust that Nick has heard a dozen times over weeks/months/years before I share with you. Any reference to him, I like to get his stamp of approval (including this essay). It wasn’t until I started talking about our relationship out loud that I realized our thorough way of communicating is not universal. It’s hard to explain in writing, but we were swiiiiiimming in the deep end of security that any admissions of insecurity, doubt or fear about our relationship didn’t feel threatened when meeting the light. You think I’m deranged? He’s loved every sliver of that derangement fiercely and it never felt wrong and I’m pretty sure I’ll ride the coattails of this gift for the rest of my life. Which is why it catches me off-guard when others have big feelings around my sharing—through our mixed-faith stage, post-mormon and now divorce.

And don’t take this airing as a complaint. It’s inevitable. I’m reaping what we sowed. After all, our marriage was the initial reason many people became interested in me, us. The Church used use us as a mixed-faith marriage prop and we’ve been paying the price ever since:) But, now that we’re separated, I’m trying to untangle our shared digital footprint….mostly for Nick’s sake but perhaps mine as well.

As seen on Reddit:

Despite the drawbacks and demands for “tell us the REAL reason you’re divorcing”, I like processing my divorce in real time because every week feels like a hundred years of learning and in the same ways you can remember in theory all the feelings of a post-faith crises, it’s hard to touch those years once they pass. I’m only eight months in and those first few months of separation in the airbnb already feel distantly numb. I’m glad I have evidence of the oozing and disorientation fleshed out here. Like a time stamp. These essays, as much as I enjoy sharing, are for me:)

Much like my earlier content, when I write, I don’t think about who will have access to this information or how it’ll impact my real-life interactions. I write to knead out thoughts that’ll consume me if they’re not properly massaged. Arguably I think this creates some of the most interesting art where perception isn’t center stage, but I’m absolutely wary of the blindspots of my verbose peripherals.

My friend messaged me a quote last week on IG that I feel puts the finger on the pulse of what’s going on in these parasocial relationships.

One of the most uncomfortable truths about divorce is that it makes other people think about their own marriages, even when you never asked to be a lesson. Your ending became a question mark in the room. People want to know how it happened, because if they can understand your rupture, maybe they can convince themselves they are safe from their own. — Olivia Howell

I’d argue this is the case for any big life change. We turn each other into mirrors sizing up our life to theirs. I’m as guilty as the next. I remember telling Nick years ago how jealous I was reading divorced announcements. That confession thing, again. I figured if only I knew the rupture details of so and so, it would illuminate a path of clarity for me.

It both did and didn’t.

If I can, speak as a potential mirror, moving towards divorce was a choice—for us. Not an ultimatum or emergency or situation of irreconcilable harm, like it is for some. For years I naively believed that there was a plethora of lines that had to be crossed to be eligible for such a decision. Like we needed a prerequisite of pain before pursuing more creative routes to a once monogamous mormon marriage. But, you don’t. We didn’t. Yes, it’s been excruciating in ways I couldn’t even IMAGINE eight months ago, but our goal in separating and now divorcing was to take a step in the direction of feeling more aligned. And based on the smile on Nick’s face last week….I think we’re doing it.

One step at a time.

For my Reddit friends, if you’re wanting a more voyeristic view of what’s going on under the hood, I’d advise you to make friends with the neighbors that live across the street from Nick. What a view they have to all the go in-betweens and kid drops-offs. You’d see the highs of laughing and sharing the truly salacious details (again, we’re working on boundaries). You’d see the last-minute runs for a bike or swimsuit for one of the kids. Or last week you would’ve witnessed me crying on his front porch as he tried to reassure me that I am not hard to love…again totally normal divorced things. The stories we have about divorce are shattering at our feet and I’m grateful (in the true sense of the word) to witness this new container, whatever it will bring.

My first-ever post I shared that led to all of this parasocial shenanigans was announcing the blessing of our daughter. September 24, 2017. This was the post that outed Nick’s faith transition and led us to become mixed-faith poster children for the Church. I reread it again this week for the first time in years. While I can honor the courage lining the trepidation of these words, it’s hard to stomach a faith crises removed. I know this was the best statement we could manage at the time but damnnnn we’ve come a long way since.

This post makes me cry.

I owe so much of my current liberation to Nick. I’m sure I would’ve found my way out of the church in due time, but he lit a fire under my ass so hot and bright I had nowhere to look but inward. By our first wedding anniversary, he no longer believed in god. This sent us into the wild to find those who were gathering to have the hard conversations under the cover of a roof in living rooms lined with mismatched chairs. Much of what has become of my 30’s took root with Nick and while we’re going our separate ways I will forever and ever be indebted to him for giving me the gift of interrogating the weird, deranged, BEAUTIFUL world inside my head free from shame and a trial.

In the same ways I hoped our kids would be able to see the integrity of Nick in choosing to stand in his dignity and not participate in their church blessings despite public pressure, I hope they can see us this second round of deconstruction—on the marital front— as two loving parents “who are brave and thoughtful and striving to be honest to what they feel inside.”

Because whatever judgements or speculations yet to be made, I think we are:)

Leaving you with one of my favorite songs early in our separation: Tegan and Sara said, “Where does the good go?” For me, it wasn’t the bad fruit but the good fruit that kept me from making the jump and I’m finding the good, or how to hold it, still at the forefront of my grief. Where does it gooooo? Highly recommend listening.