How to plan your first wedding anniversary after divorce

Your first wedding anniversary after divorce is its own little holiday from hell, and you do not get a card for it. So here's the plan I wish someone had handed me.

Two rules before we start. One, the goal of the day is not to feel great. The goal is to get through it on purpose, instead of getting through it by accident. Two, you are allowed to cry the whole day if you want to. Crying is not the plan failing. Crying is part of the plan.

The night before. Lay things out. Pick the comfort clothes. Put the ice cream in the freezer. Charge your phone. Pre-text the one friend who's on call tomorrow so future-you doesn't have to ask for support from scratch in the morning. Go to bed earlier than you think you need to. Tomorrow does not require you to be impressive. It requires you to be present.

Morning. Stay in bed a little longer than usual. Not all day, but not on a normal schedule either. Make a real breakfast, the kind with multiple things on the plate. Eat it slowly. If you cry into your eggs, that's fine. The eggs don't mind. Light a candle. Put on a playlist that has nothing to do with the relationship. The morning is for softness, not productivity.

Late morning. Get outside, even briefly. A walk around the block counts. A coffee shop with a book counts. A drive with the windows down counts. The point isn't exercise. The point is to remind your body that the world is still moving and you are still in it. Twenty minutes is enough.

Midday. Do not eat lunch alone in your apartment scrolling through old photos. I am saying this with love. Either have lunch with one safe person (mom, sister, the friend who knows), or take yourself somewhere small and pleasant where you don't have to talk. Bring a book. Order the thing you want. This is not the meal to be virtuous about.

Afternoon. This is the dip. Around 2pm or 3pm there will be a sag where the day feels long and the night feels far away and the memories get louder. Have a plan for it. A movie you've seen a hundred times. A long bath. A nap on purpose. A creative thing with your hands (baking, a puzzle, painting your nails badly). Whatever it is, decide before the dip hits. Decision-fatigue you in the afternoon will pick the worst possible option.

Early evening. Make a ritual, if you want one. Not a Pinterest ritual. A small one. Write yourself a letter and put it in a drawer to read next year. Write down three things from the marriage you're grateful for and three things you're glad you left behind. Burn a piece of paper with one thing on it you're ready to release. Light a candle for the version of you who said I do, and thank her for trying. Any of these. None of these. Skip this part entirely if it feels precious. You know yourself.

Dinner. Order the comfort food. Eat it on the couch. This is not the night for a sad salad. If you have one safe person who can come over and just sit with you and watch a show, this is the hour for them. If you're doing it solo, that's also okay. Pick the movie you've watched so many times the dialogue is almost soothing. The bar for tonight is the floor.

11pm. This is when it usually hits hardest. The day is almost over and your guard comes down and the cry shows up. Let it. Take the shower. Put on the softest thing you own. Get in bed. Text the friend the "made it through today" text. Write one sentence in your phone about what today was like. Not for anyone else. For next year you, who's going to want to know how far she's come.

And then sleep. Tomorrow is just a Wednesday. The anniversary is over. You did it.

One last thing. Don't make any big decisions tomorrow either. The day after a hard date is its own little hangover, and post-anniversary you is also not a reliable narrator. Give yourself a soft 48 hours on both sides. The world can wait.

Next year, the day will be smaller. I promise. The first one is the loudest because your body has never spent this date divorced before. Once it has, it knows it's survivable. By year three, you might forget the date until the afternoon. Some of you are going to read that and feel relieved. Some of you are going to read it and feel sad that you'll forget. Both are okay. Both are part of it.

If the run-up is still ahead of you, the week before your wedding anniversary is the worst part is the one for the dread. And if a good memory ambushes you on the day, when the happy memories ambush you is the one to keep open in a tab.