I just asked yesterday in a podcast interview what the hardest conversation of my life was. The answer was easy: telling my three boys about the divorce from their dad. They were 8, 5 and 3. The bigs cried. The little one did too because he saw the people that made up his whole world break. Before that, I white knuckled a lot because I thought they deserved an intact family… all these years later, my oldest (who’s 23) said: "Mom, I remember you when I was little. I like this version of you way more." Turns out what they needed wasn't an intact family. It was a happy Angela.