The consolation with which I have reassured myself over the past three years of divorce hell is that, as a writer, I would one day take all that pain and sublimate it into a novel that would touch the lives of millions. Recently a friend recommended that I read ‘Eat, Pray, Love’. As I began to devour the book, a torrent of mixed emotions swept over me. The more I read, the lower my heart sank - right through the ground beneath me toward the centre of the Earth. This woman not only seemed to share a personality with me, but her life story and mine could have been siamese twins! The scenes, the reactions, even soom of the dialogue seemed to be wrenched from my memories.

As much as I was dismayed, I also found that the words cradled me in a way that no amount of talking to well-meaning, concerned friends could. Someone else had been through this. Someone else had experienced the same “loss on loss”. I was not alone.

I may never have the luxury of the year-long triple-continent holiday - my journey is taking place right now, within myself - but her story has wrapped a blanket around my heart, inspiring me to keep moving forward, one day at a time. Other people suffer. Other people have been through this. And they survive.