August is a Doorway
August doesn't get much credit. It's not the relief of June or the reset of September — it's the month where nothing much happens on purpose. Summer's already spent its momentum. Fall hasn't shown up yet to make you buy notebooks and pretend you have a plan. It just sits there, a little too hot, a little too quiet.
But maybe that's the wrong way to see it. August isn't empty — it's a doorway. A liminal month, standing between two seasons, belonging fully to neither. And if you're divorced or divorcing, you already know this kind of threshold. It's the space after the decision and before the new life actually starts — after the papers, after the telling people, after the version of you that had to be brave out loud. And before whatever comes next has any shape at all.
Nobody warns you about the in-between. We talk a lot about the decision to leave, and eventually we talk about who you become after. But the doorway itself — the part where you're technically free and still standing in it, one foot in each season — doesn't get its own chapter. It should.
So consider this your permission slip for August: you don't have to walk through yet. Standing in a doorway isn't the same as being stuck. Sometimes it's just where you are — and portals, by nature, only open when they're ready.
We'll see you in September.
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