By Sandra Boyer

The Law of Polarity teaches that everything has an opposite—and that within every bad situation, there is something equally good. When you start looking for the good, you open the door for more of it to find you.

So, I looked around and found myself officially separated and alone. Was this a bad situation?

According to my mother? YES. A resounding yes. I could already hear the questions, the lectures, the well-meaning (but exhausting) advice she’d feel obligated to give. (Trust me.) My solution? I just didn’t tell her. Eventually, she found out through the grapevine, but not from me. She asked my siblings about my situation, but never asked me directly—which was just fine by me. Honestly, I was trying to avoid a repeat of the last time. During my previous separation, her involvement only made things harder.

As for my siblings? Who knows. I didn’t ask. I only confided in one of them—someone I trusted fully, who kept my confidence and offered nothing but love and support.

My children? Their answer was a mix of yes and no. They missed their father, of course—but I made sure they had complete freedom in how and when they connected with him. I even drove them to his new apartment when they asked. I taught them this experience didn’t have to be traumatic or heavy. It would be what we made it.

According to my religious denomination and congregation? MOST DEFINITELY a bad situation. In that community, keeping the family unit intact is everything—unless things have gotten truly extreme.

My friends? Mixed reactions again. Some treated it like the worst-case scenario. I could feel the pity and the gentle (and not-so-gentle) nudges toward fixing me up or "helping me heal." I became someone to worry about. A project. Not my favorite role.

Other friends, though? Pure gold. They didn’t prod, didn’t pry. Just stayed close, offered kindness, and let me come to them when I needed to.

And then there was me. At the time? I would’ve screamed, “YES THIS IS BAD!!” I had already walked this road once—and here I was again. Again! Years before, I would’ve bet my firstborn that I’d be married to this man for life.

Now, I need to say this: all of these viewpoints—except my own—were assumptions. I didn’t ask anyone for their opinions, and I didn’t care to. I had enough on my plate.

That’s not to say I was cold or stoic. Far from it. I was in a deeply vulnerable place. I needed people—but I also needed to be extremely careful about who I let into that space. I chose three confidants—people who would listen when I needed, offer advice only if asked, and never, ever betray my trust.

And something interesting happened not long after the separation: my perspective flipped. One-eighty. I started to see my situation in a completely new light. I began to enjoy my independence. Sure, I missed companionship—but I wasn’t missing the tension, the conflict, or the undercurrent of pain. I found joy in old friendships, in new ones, and in fresh opportunities I never saw coming.

Here’s what I found to be good in this “bad” situation:

• Peace and calm at home.

• New doors opening simply because he left.

• Business opportunities I couldn’t have accessed otherwise.

• Deep, meaningful friendships.

• Discovering The Jackrabbit Factor: Why You Can by Leslie Householder.

• The space to learn new skills and develop new interests.

• Surprisingly warm and respectful interactions with my ex.

• His willingness to help when asked—plumbing, laptops, financial support.

• Missing him in a healthy, honest way. (Who knew?)

• A newfound appreciation for who he was—and real gratitude.

• Casual visits to his place where I felt welcomed, not tense.

• Phone calls with friends that stretched into the night.

• Learning the Seven Laws of Success—which revolutionized my life.

And here’s the thing: according to the Law of Polarity, if my marriage was deeply unhealthy, then on the other side of that—by law—there must exist the potential for a deeply healthy relationship. I held on to that truth. I visualized what that relationship might feel like. I didn’t give the face a name (it wasn’t time for that yet), but I planted the image in my heart.

Sometimes, the results take time. But consciously and intentionally imagining something better is the beginning of everything. A new chapter always begins with a shift in focus—and a willingness to see the good where once there was only pain.

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