Divorce is a legal act, and you need to think long and hard about lawyering up.  Why? So what? What are the repercussions? Are there strategies about this sort of sh*t?  Are there other options? Our take: You may be in hell, but you better call Saul.

SAD ABOUT IT:

Some of the best advice I got came from Mad About It.  I was all Sad About It, and I moped around miserably in those first few days of shock, worrying that I was about to be financially destroyed by the love of my life.  Mad About It said, “Best money I spent was blocking out the best lawyers in town.” Now this sh*t gets crazy, and Mad About It had kids to worry about in the mix of things.  I just had money at stake. Anyway, I’ll let Mad About It explain his good investment, and then I’ll return to how I got out of my first round of depression and got down to work.

MAD ABOUT IT:

Find the three best lawyers in your town, city, or county–depending on how metropolitan or rural your living situation is. Chances are you know someone who is divorced or works in the legal system. Ask them who the top three divorce lawyers are. Google them, get their office numbers, and call them.  Set an appointment, a consultation, with each one. Do this now. As in immediately. Tell no one you have done this, especially your soon-to-be ex. The point is to get legal advice, but there is a huge added bonus here. When you engage with the top legal talent in your area, you stake claim. What I mean is, it is a legal conflict of interest for those lawyers to meet with your spouse once they have set a meeting with you.  So you have effectively boxed her out from ever being able to have those lawyers represent her, and she will have to go with a second tier option. You may never see a courtroom, you may handle all of this in a relatively amicable fashion with a mediator. But that $900 give or take, $300 for each consultation, just bought you peace of mind that you will not be going up against the best if it comes to it. Worth every penny!

SAD ABOUT IT:

That was great advice, but I didn’t end up using it because of how things started to work out for me.  Don’t get me wrong, I also had the good fortune of assembling a Dream Team of lawyers to manage my divorce, and that legal work was also on the down low.  But my situation was entirely about understanding what I could and couldn’t or should and shouldn’t do or say in negotiating the dissolution of the marriage and, of course, the splitting up of joint assets.  Basically, I called a lawyer who sent me to another lawyer who I paid as my counsel, and then I ran everything that lawyer told me by three friends who were all lawyers. I went from not caring what any of those friends did on a given day–not giving a sh*t at all–to needing them and their expertise intensely.  Thank God they all thought my soon-to-be ex was being an asshole, because that meant free legal advice. Hell, I even got on the phone with a minister friend who manages mediations to get pointers about strategies for negotiating face-to-face about these kinds of things. (Being Sad About It has its advantages; smart people often like to help sad people.)  And here is the important thing: I didn’t go to court, and all that legal advice was invisible to my future ex-wife, but all that advice proved essential to my thinking and actions. I used lawyers to learn the ins and outs of what I needed to know. It was like I was studying sparring techniques with Mr. Miyagi in advance of a street fight. I didn’t do anything wrong by getting smarter about the situation, but I didn’t disclose all of my knowledge and assistance when we got to sorting out details; I didn’t lead with a crane kick in the street fight for fear of earning a lead pipe to my shin.  Actually, I made the whole thing seem amicable even though I showed up ready to push for a few things. Attorney-client privilege is a good thing for whomever is paying for the lawyer, and getting help is wise for someone like you. If you talk to a lawyer it doesn’t have to be information your future ex-wife will know, and there is nothing wrong with that. Pay in cash. Be discreet. Cover your ass. Learn. You don’t want to go to court, but you want to be ready for anything. Then you can head into discussions with full awareness of what is and isn’t a good deal for you, and you don’t have to let on that you understand everything nor do you have to correct her if she expresses ignorance about the entire situation.  When it comes to discussing this stuff with your future ex-wife, don’t get legalistic because you don’t want to go to court. (Avoid the crane kick pose!) Be sneaky if you have to, but figure out what is fair for everyone with full awareness of how things can or might go if you end up in a legal showdown. Then work toward the fair situation that will work best for you. All’s fair in love and war, so take your advantages where you can get them. Look out for yourself.

MAD ABOUT IT:

Mediation is a great option if both parties are still reasonable and one side has not just gone total vengeful f*cking bananas.  It is cheaper and lets you and the pending ex have the final word on what works when it comes to splitting assets, pets, custody, who gets the f*cking flat screen, whatever.  Also, it keeps the money out of the lawyers’ hands. Don’t get it twisted, the lawyers are there to vehemently protect you, sometimes attack her, but ultimately they are there to get paid and be profitable.  In some cases that will be a necessary evil, but if you can see yourself sitting in a room with your ex and hashing out a lot of bullsh*t with a third party that will guide you both through the legal landscape, this, again, is a great option. And as my Sad compatriot pointed out above, it definitely pays to do your homework. Fortune favors the prepared.

SAD ABOUT IT:

I remember my main meeting with the one lawyer I paid.  (I had to get the cash for that meeting from a friend, and that sucked.  My friend and I wrote a contract for a cash loan on the back of a cereal box I had in my car.  Get ready to do weird sh*t like that because you’re in for a ride!) This lawyer man was nice, but he was jaded as f*ck.  He started our meeting with enthusiasm about all I might be able to claim from my cheating wife. He rubbed his hands together and grabbed a pen.  He quickly realized I was the breadwinner, and then he sunk into his seat further with every detail that came out of my mouth; these details were traveling through his ears and turning into crap news as they passed through the legal matrix of his mind.  Eventually, he threw his pen to the table. I had arrived to this meeting–sh*t you not–with a decade of bank statements highlighted blue and pink, coded for “his” and “hers,” to provide me with hard numbers. I started to pull those out when he stopped me and said none of that mattered because I was screwed.  I nearly passed out, and then I felt something in me turn toward rage. I went on and on about all I had done right in the relationship, and he let me get it out. I was paying, so he let me get it out. Then he, again, told me that none of that mattered either–unless I was ready to engage in the shady arts of manipulative negotiation.  He leaned in and said, “Use her guilt.” I felt some little piece of my soul die as I said, “Sure. How do I do that?” He told me to negotiate as soon as possible, to make it as easy as possible, and to infuse the situation with as much emotion as possible. He said, “Use the sadness and the feelings because that is all you have to work with in terms of not losing most of everything you have.  Over time she’ll come to see everything as your fault, but right now she feels bad. Work with that.” So here ends my advice to other screwed over sad sacks that are facing negotiation without lawyers present to mediate the whole thing: Kindly use her guilt.

MAD ABOUT IT:

Splitting up assets sucks.  Your money, debt, and equity are essentially split down the middle.  But the disbursement of the material goods you have amassed is a bit trickier.  Some material items will hold memories or emotional value and people get weird about that sh*t.  Including yours truly. The ex and I were going along briskly splitting up our run of the mill items, you know, the blender, the record collection, the books, etc.  Some items are no brainers. That juicer that got used for that cleanse for a couple of weeks that she just had to have, she can f*cking keep it. The vibrator and anal beads are all hers.  The box set of Curb Your Enthusiasm is mine as is the PlayStation, and the flashlight.  But there will inevitably be an item that is a snag. The quick answer is, it’s all just stuff, let that sh*t go.  My landmine item was a Bluetooth speaker. I had no intention of giving it up. She didn’t give a sh*t when I bought it; in fact, she had let loose a snarky, passive aggressive remark about the cost when I had brought it home.  So why the f*ck should she care about me having this thing that was more important to me than her anyway? It wasn’t about the thing itself or possessing the thing. Now it was about winning. Now it was about, “F*ck you, that’s mine.”  Be careful here. Don’t get your balls in a twist about the small things. Keep the big picture in mind. Is it worth the battle and frustration or can you live without it?

SAD ABOUT IT:

The gist of it all: Getting a divorce is a job, so treat it that way.  This is a new job for you, so you need on-the-job training. Approach the business of divorce with professionalism, strategy, and forethought.  There will be emotion, f*ck-ups, and pain along the way because you’re a human and this, after all, is the legal end to your marriage. But the more you can approach the divorce as work, the better off you’ll be.  In order to do the work, you need to know the relevant divorce laws (which vary by state), so get thee to a lawyer ASAP. Do so intelligently, perhaps stealthily, and then proceed as you can. (If you’re totally broke then consider working with a robot lawyer, but that is no substitution for meeting up with an expert with a pulse.) Maybe you could just buy this book. You have options!  But whatever you do, don’t throw up your arms and give away your stuff out of a sense of failure or fatalism.  Advocate for yourself, and try to do so without getting too bogged down with the legal system. We both think the prospect of marriages ending in an extended courtroom trial is terrifyingly sad, so we worked hard–in our own ways–to avoid that outcome.  We succeeded. You might too. Or you might not. Regardless, know the law, and we encourage you to get a kick ass lawyer. Now.