Beauty in the Ugly

There was a time when I didn't recognize myself in the mirror—or in my life.

I ricocheted between despair and rage, powerlessness and blame. My days felt like moving through thick fog with no landmarks, no sense of where I was or where I was going. Divorce has a way of doing that—stripping you down to a version of yourself you've never met before.

But here's what I didn't see then, what I couldn't have known in the middle of that storm: some of the most beautiful things in my life were being born in that very rubble.

I met one of my dearest friends during that season. She was navigating her own spiral—single motherhood, legal battles, the exhausting work of trying to find solid ground when everything beneath you keeps shifting. We weren't drawn together because misery loves company. We found each other because we needed a place to be honest. To cry. To laugh when nothing felt remotely funny. To keep walking.

And we walked. A lot.

Now, this woman is one of the most glamorous people I know. We'd met a couple of years earlier while representing a high-end women's apparel brand, both of us polished and put-together. So the first time she walked into the coffee shop wearing that coat, I didn't know whether to laugh or ask if she'd been robbed.

It was this enormous, oversized blue parka—zipped clear up to her chin—paired with a truly terrible hat. The whole ensemble looked like something she'd pulled from a donation bin in a hurry. I wasn't exactly a fashion icon myself in those days, but this? This was a choice.

Years later, she told me why she wore it.

She said that coat reminded her things were bleak and unmanageable right now—but that didn't mean they'd always be. It was her way of holding onto hope when hope felt ridiculous. A small act of faith wrapped in polyester and bad style.

And she was right.

For both of us, life changed. Not overnight. Not easily. But it changed. We rose from those ashes—not just once, but again and again. Like the Phoenix, we learned to rebuild ourselves in ways we never could have imagined back then.

I wouldn't wish that season on anyone. But I also wouldn't trade what it taught me—what it gave me. The clarity that only comes when everything else falls away. The friendships forged in fire. The quiet, hard-won understanding of who I am and what I'm meant for.

If you're in your own version of that blue parka season right now—if you can't see how things could ever get better—I want you to know something:

You don't have to have the answers yet. You don't have to know how this ends. You just have to keep walking. And maybe, if you're lucky (and open), you'll find someone willing to walk beside you.

The ugliness you're wearing today? It won't be forever. One day, you'll look back and see the beauty that was being born in it all along.

My lovely friend traded in that parka years ago. These days, when she starts her car, it greets her with a message: "Hello, Beautiful."

And she is.

Love and Light,
Michèle