What Diana Nyad Taught Me About Surviving a Nightmare Divorce

“You don’t like it. It’s not doing well. Find a way.” – Diana Nyad

Although she doesn’t have children, Diana Nyad organizes an annual beach party for her friends who do. One year, my kids and I got invited, via a mutual friend. Franny was four and Luca was nine. He had by then blossomed into a full-blown nightmare and I dreaded taking him to parties, or any public forum, because he inevitably found new and more spectacular ways to cause a Mother-Blaming spectacle.

But how many times do you get invited to Diana Nyad’s beach party? I tossed some towels and the kids in the car and hoped for the best.

Diana couldn’t have been more personable, and down-to-earth in a larger-than-life way. She shook the crap out of my hand when I introduced myself, and repeated my name and the kids’ names several times to make sure she’d gotten them.

She wore board shorts, a sun visor, and a whistle around her neck. She had that revved-up gym teacher vibe, moving across the sand in purposeful strides, occasionally stopping and pivoting when someone called her name, or she had to throw someone a juice box.

Halfway through the party, Diana corralled her guests into a series of games.  I am not remotely a team sport person but when Diana Nyad tells you you MUST participate in the Egg Toss, you don’t say no.

So I found myself in line with other moms, all of us facing across the sand from our youngsters. Diana blew her whistle and Franny and I gingerly tossed the egg back and forth. As we moved further apart, the smile on Franny’s face froze. I tossed the egg in the most delicate arc I could muster but it passed through her quivering hands, into the sand.

“It’s okay, honey, it’s still in one piece!” I said, picking it up.

Franny burst into tears and ran to the sidelines.

“Luca! Take your sister’s place!” Diana commanded.

Luca stiffened.

“I don’t want to!”

“Luca, get in the line! It’ll be fun!”

Luca shouted no. Diana, as you can imagine, was relentless. Finally, Luca stepped into the line across from me, glaring. I practically wheezed with panic.

We tossed the egg back and forth a couple times. My last toss landed short and Luca missed it.

“MOM!” He screamed, livid, as he escalated into an epic tantrum. “YOU MADE ME MISS IT!”

I don’t remember exactly what transpired, but it involved tumbling into the sand and flailing limbs and ear-shattering animalistic howls and more bellowing about how I was the worst mom ever.

“Luca, it’s okay!” said Diana. “You’ll get it next time.”

Luca shook with rage and kept screaming about how I ruined the game, the day, his life. I considered putting my beach bag over my head. Instead, I packed it up in disgrace.

When the game was over, I slunk up to Diana and thanked her profusely and apologetically for having us.

She bent down to a still-simmering Luca, her whistle dangling from her neck, and looked him square in the eye.

“Hey, Luca! You’re a good kid. Thank you for your participation. Give your mom a break.”

Luca grumbled something in response. I stared at Diana, marveling at her ability to say something positive to the worst party guest ever.

*         *          *

I didn’t know Diana Nyad was attempting yet another Cuba-to-Florida swim until news of her success burst across my Twitter feed last Sunday. I knew that she had tried, and failed, to complete the swim a couple years ago. I remember thinking that the woman who choreographed the Egg Toss was nuts. She was too old, I thought, and could have died. It was time to throw in the towel.

A single mom blogger I follow posted a link to an article about Diana written two years ago, when she was attempting the swim that I thought was foolish. The writer told an anecdote about Muhammed Ali’s famous fight against George Foreman, in which he was pummeled into seeming oblivion before felling Foreman with two punches. The trick to his his phenomenal knockout? His ability to hold onto his confidence and sense of humor while taking the hits.

Just like 64-year-old Diana Nyad, who last Sunday triumped over sharks, jellyfish, and 110 miles of ocean. After 30-odd years of trying and failing, she achieved the aquatic version of a knockout.

*          *          *

My ex-husband has knocked me down repeatedly over the past ten years. He created enough havoc that I relinquished custody of my son. He drained my finances through a custody battle and the cessation of child support. I’m now wondering how I’m going to be able to afford food and housing for my kids after a few more months, let alone a few more years.

The feeling of being psychologically raped is awful to live with. It’s humiliating and infuriating and terrifying: this sense that no matter what I do, Prince finds a way to knock me down. And when you’re used to being slammed down, it’s hard to imaging getting up, let alone staying up.

Prince told my dad when we first started divorce proceedings ten years ago: “I’m going to win.” And why wouldn’t he win? He’s rich. I’m not. He has an intact family that surrounds him like an army. I’m essentially on my own. He has plenty of leisure time with which to choreograph legal shenanigans. I work full-time and have hardly any leisure.

When I think about the odds I’m up against, and the number of times I’ve been knocked down, I feel foolish. Why bother taking him back to court to try to modify child support? If history’s any predictor, Prince will win this next battle. He’ll wind up with both kids and I’ll wind up paying him child support.

He’ll have won the grand slam in the game of Nightmare Divorce.

I was feeling particularly terminal and devoid of the one thing that’s kept my ahead above the mishigas — my sense of humor — last Sunday until I read the news about Diana Nyad. I’m not a sporty person, I could care less about swimming, but I found myself crying.

What blew my mind was not that she finally succeeded, but that she didn’t let failure make her feel she couldn’t win.

When I saw the pictures of her striding out of the ocean, her arms held high, it occurred to me that giving myself permission to keep going isn’t foolish. It’s essential.

“You don’t like it. It’s not doing well. Find a way.” – Diana Nyad