Attending My First Wedding as a Divorcee Was Not What I Expected

Last week I went to Mexico and attended my first wedding as a divorcee. I was surprised by my jolting emotions, like someone put them in a cocktail shaker and danced the samba, using my emotions as maracas. I was happy for my niece of course, and I do adore romance and beauty, but there were moments at the wedding that were zings of pain, like little divorce bees were flying around, stinging me here and there.

Sting 1: The Vows

I was flooded by memories of my own wedding, and the passionate long handwritten vows we spoke with tears streaming down our cheeks, that ended up being broken and stomped on by my ex, and I felt the first STING. Damn bees. But as I sat there, watching my niece’s groom, who is a 6’4 firefighter named Knight, I kid you not, as I watched him look up at her with a look of complete and utter adoration and joy, I pulled the stinger out and flicked it away. I refuse to allow myself to feel sad or hurt in the presence of shining love. I am my own knight in shining armor.

Sting 2: The Slow Songs

Every time some sappy love song came on at the wedding, all the couples would rush to the dance floor, wrap their arms around each other, and sway, whispering in each other’s ears and laughing. Their were young couples who barely knew each other, and older couples who had been married for forty years. I sat in my chair and politely watched, unsure of what I should do. Should I sit here feeling sad that I had no one to dance with, or should I sit here and feel jubilant that I didn’t have some smelly distracted dude raining on my parade? My ex hated weddings. (I suppose that should have been a red flag.) Most of the weddings that happened while we were married I attended alone anyway, so this should have felt familiar. But it didn’t. It hurt. STING. I glanced over at my kids and saw they were feeling awkward too. I envisioned myself standing up and dancing by myself. As I was fantasizing about my stand-alone Astaire and Rogers twirl, my sister, Maria, came to me, took my hand and dragged me and my kids onto the floor, dancing with all of us. She took the sting out, and I felt grateful. Her generous spirit had remembered this might be hard for me, and her grinding “Steve-Martin-Wild-and-Crazy-Guy” dance moves, even to slow songs, flipped our heartache into laughter.

Sting 3: The Toast

In this particular wedding, the toasts weren’t about the bride and groom, but about the importance of family, and staying together through the hard times. STING! There’s nothing I can do about the fact that my family is now split up. At this point, the question is no longer why my ex acted like a scalliwag, but how I was so bamboozled for so long? That’s a question for myself, and one that I have no idea how to answer. I’m starting to think maybe there is no answer. But do you know what there is? Melipona.

The Salve

In Mayan times, the little Melipona bees were so revered, they had their own god and were carved into the walls of ancient temples. Considered a flying golden miracle to ancient cultures for thousands of years, providing the sweetness and healing properties of honey, beeswax for candles, and pollinating entire eco systems, specifically the vanilla orchid in the jungles of Mexico. The local communities believed keeping this sacred bee was a transcendental experience and Melipona keepers were thought to be closer to divinity.

But here’s the most magical thing about the Melipona bee: they don’t sting, making them my favorite kind of bee.

So when I feel the stings of betrayal and sadness that come along with the ongoing hell that is divorce, I’m going to go into my Mind Palace and think of the Melipona bee. I will imagine a little golden bee with a sparkling crown that catches the sunlight, zipping along the jungles of the Yucatan, nourishing orchids and making honey. I will focus on nourishing the orchids of my own life, and making my soul into a hive of magical golden oozing sweetness, no stinging necessary.