Money, the image that money brings, meant a lot to Jake. I couldn't get a bookshelf or a pair of shoes without checking in first - I would have gotten a look, a comment, a day of silence. A plane ticket to see a friend for the weekend, that was out of the question. We didn't have the money to spend it recklessly.

The thing was, we did have the money. And when Jake wanted something, he would get it. He was an impulse furniture buyer. He bought a $300 humidor on whim.

He thought that, because he made more than I did, financial decisions should be his. He was uncomfortable with feeling this way, he tried to pretend he didn't, but he did.

I have mixed feelings about money. If there's not a cushion in my bank account, I get nervous. My cat might need surgery again. My car might fall apart. I want to be prepared. And, for the most part, I don't spend a lot. I don't like shopping. I don't have expensive taste in anything.

But I want to see my friends, and I'm willing to throw down for a plane ticket to do so. If I have the freedom and ability to travel, I want to do so — I might not be able to later. If that means carrying some debt around for a couple of months, so be it. I don't want to be irresponsible, but I also don't want to give everything up. So I try to balance.

I definitely have less money now that I'm divorcing. I have to watch things, especially since I have to guard against the day my settlement payments stop. But I love that I can take a class if I want to and not have to justify it to anyone. I can go on vacation. I can get a bookshelf.

I used to wonder about couples that had been together for years but still kept separate bank accounts. Now, I see the appeal. I don't know how willing I'd be to get back into shared finances. This way, I know exactly where everything is, and my choices about what to do with what I have are mine alone.

As if I didn't have enough going on already, I decided to add more to my plate. Something major.

I've decided to go to school. I've wanted to learn cinematography and film production for quite some time, and now I'm finally going to do it.

I stumbled across the program a few months ago while doing some research on the Internet. Of course, like anything of its kind, it's pretty expensive. However, they had some information on the site pertaining to grants and other sources of financial aid so I decided to go for it, and I applied.

It was a daunting application complete with questions like "Why should we give this money to you?" and "Explain your commitment and desire to be in the film program." The last question was an essay. I did the best that I could — it took me all day — and sent it on it's way. I didn't get my hopes up, though.

So I was shocked when I received the letter that I had been selected for not one, but two grants. They cover the cost of attendance and then some. I'm also taking out a few student loans so that I can spend more time focusing on this.

I enrolled in the accelerated summer program, so that I can start earlier, cram a bunch in, therefore finishing quicker. I always have enjoyed moving fast.

This is going to be great. It's going to give me something to focus on, something more important than Levi and all of his bullshit. There are some fabulous classes that are going to provide me with excellent opportunities for creativity. And I'm going to learn how to do something that I know that I will love doing.

Classes start May 19. I can't tell you how excited I am to finally be doing something good for myself.

Getting a settlement is handy. Since Jake owns a company, since the company is lucrative, since we were married for 10 years, and since he's not an asshole, mine is a decent one. More than decent, really. Because giving me what we determined is "my share" all at once would effectively close his company down, our arrangement is spread over the next five years.

This means that I can afford to stay in San Francisco. This means that I have some money to invest against the day the payments stop. This means I don't have to panic about money for the next little bit.

This also means that he and I are tied for the next five years.

I didn't want any money from him when we split. It felt wrong, somehow. It felt icky. I didn't want the tie. I'm rational enough to take it, but we're still in a relationship this way. This necessitates communication. There's a monthly reminder. It's a connection I don't like having.

Sometimes I wonder if the complete and absolute freedom would be worth it. But this money means that I am having a far, far, far easier time of it than other women in the same situation. With all I have to worry about, paying my bills is not, for the moment, one of them. So I feel enormously guilty for the bad feelings I have.

How do I not feel guilty for resenting this? How do I accept this help while hating the ties it makes and keeps?

So, are you all ready for this...Levi actually did something! He called Adrian's doctor and paid his $180 bill. Wow, right? I was pretty amazed myself. I think it took me three minutes standing in front of the receptionist before I realized that my mouth was hanging open.

When I got home, I checked my e-mail and I had this from Levi: "The bill has been paid and they will see Adrian. You can call the doctor's office, go to future appts etc. They will help you get free insurance. They said they told you this but you never followed up. You never follow up with anything."

Okay, that pissed me off. I actually hit the roof on that one. How dare he imply that I don't follow through in regards to my son, in regard to my son's health! Does he have any idea how insulting that is, especially coming from him?!

I mean, geez...he pays one bill — one bill that he was ordered by a judge to pay — and suddenly he thinks he has the right to imply that I'm not a good mother.

Do I need to remind him that I've been here since day one? That I'm the one who takes him to the doctor? That I'm the one who cooks him dinner, gives him baths, takes him to the playground, etc.? Does he need reminding that Adrian climbs into bed with ME at night, that I'm the only one of us that he knows?

I suppose he'd like it if I got down on my knees and thanked him for paying the stupid bill. And you know what, maybe I should, because its really a miracle.

I would really like to believe that Levi did that because he actually has a conscience and it was starting to get to him. I'd like to believe that he paid it out of concern for our son. I'd like to believe all of that, but I'm more inclined to believe that he paid it simply because he's worried that he'll get in trouble if he doesn't.

It's always all about him.

One of the biggest myths of all is that divorcees and single mothers are seen as heroes. They've survived trials and tribulations, they took a stand, and they're making it on their own.

Heroes? In my book, yes. In the public eye? Oh, no, not at all, I'm afraid.

Divorcees are quickly perceived as women on the prowl. They're cougars. They're predators. They have no man, therefore, they must be on the hunt for one. And if they're not? Then they must be depressed, suicidal wash-ups barely hanging on.

Single mothers? Valiant crusaders raising children? I'm afraid not. Single mothers are usually pinned as bad mothers, because who in their right mind would rip children away from their fathers and feed kids Kraft Dinner when child support payments weren't forthcoming?

Well, I'll tell you who's in their right mind. Divorcees and single mothers, that's who.

These women have gone through life experiences that are challenges to their very self-worth and integrity. These women fight hard and fight back, sometimes even against themselves as they try to figure it all out.

These women are survivors and forward thinkers, not women who lie in complacency or settle for less. These women refuse to sit back and take a beating for years. They get up, they get out, and they get on with it.

Do they do it on a whim? Not likely. Women take a long time before making up their minds, and that goes double (and sometimes triple) for women in relationships that aren't working.

There's nothing impulsive about leaving your partner. There's nothing quick or fast about it. It's a big decision that demands a lot of thought and careful planning. It can take a decade or more before that step out the door occurs.

I'm trying to stand on my own two feet. I really am. I've brought my kids into a better, healthier home. I've pulled myself out of debt. I'm attempting to buy the house I rent for more stability.

But I'm not rich. I scrimped and worked hard to get to where I am right now, and there isn't a lot of money to spare.

So when the bank called and told me they'd approve my mortgage application if I doubled the down payment on the house, I nearly cried. Where would I come up with nearly $20,000?

Visions of the future danced through my head. My house would be sold to someone else. I'd be out of a place to live. I'd have to get another apartment, and it would be ugly and cramped. It would be expensive, too; my rent is lower than the norm for my town.

But I didn't cry. I got determined. I narrowed my eyes and started calling the person who might be able to help: my ex.

"Never too proud to bed, are you," my mother once said. "Aren't you ashamed?" As a matter of fact, no, I'm not too proud to ask for what I need. I watched my mother miss many opportunities in life because of too much pride.

I grew up with a different mind-set: If you ask for nothing, nothing is what you'll get.

I hated the idea of owing my ex money. That was a string that I didn't want tied around me. But it was give up on everything I'd worked for and downgrade or push forward and deal.

I half-expected him to say, "No way." He didn't. He was happy to help. After all, his daughter would have a nice house to live in and stability. He asked about how I'd pay him back, but in a thoughtful way, not in a way that made me feel small.

In the end, the bank goofed up and I didn't have to come up with the money after all. They approved the mortgage and I can breath a sigh of relief. I have a home of my own.

Lately, I'd lost my feeling of being settled and getting into the groove. I felt disjointed, tired, and fed up over my situation.

My mortgage application is still pending approval, and I'm tired and stressed over it. So close, and so far... yet I received some unexpected encouragement.

"You really should congratulate yourself no matter what happens," the bank manager said. I was confused. Congratulate myself on barely qualifying for a mortgage?

"You've come a long way in two years," she went on. "You left your husband. You had to grieve. You were alone with two kids, and you found a place. You built a successful business by yourself."

"Look at you," the woman stressed. "You're back on your feet and doing fine. If it's not this house, it'll be another. You're almost there, and you're on the path back to a healthy life. So congratulate yourself."

She's right.

I was lingering on what could have been instead of focusing on what's to come. So I want to tell other women reading this - the ones who are still in what could have been and who aren't yet ready for what's to come — that there's hope.

It may be hard and it may be long, but it can be done. I've had my ups and downs and my heart-wrenching moments missing being a family, but honestly? I wouldn't trade what I have now for the world.

I made a decision to find something better. It sounds hokey, but there is better out there. Maybe not with someone else or a new partner, but there is a really good life if you can get up the courage to say, "Enough. This far and no further."

So take a deep breath. Start thinking about what's to come. You'll be okay.

I'm going to buy a house. Not any house, either. I want to buy the duplex I live in.

After extensive talks with my mother about selling the family home, I realized that much of my emotional instability comes from the fact that my current situation is, indeed, unstable.

I rent. I could be thrown out at any time. The monthly payments could shoot up beyond my means. The landlord could sell to someone else who could throw me out or jack up my rent. Where would I go? Back to Mum's? Back to my ex's?

Enough.

I'm going to put my own two feet on the ground and get myself a damned good Plan B. I've called my landlord and asked if they're interested in selling. They are. And the price is right, too.

I've called the bank and listened to them hem and haw about me not being very solvable because I'm self-employed. I have good income, fantastic credit, a nice history... With my heart in my hands, I waited for them to say no.

They said they'd make an exception and lend me the money.

I'm excited and terrified, but I'm thinking logically. The apartment upstairs brings in half the mortgage. My rent would actually go down and we'd be better off financially. We could even move to a better place, rent both apartments out and the place would pay for itself.

We could stay for years. We could renovate a little, put up some more insulation to cut down on heating or finish the basement into a nice room. We could rent the place upstairs out to my Mum. She's been saying she wants an apartment in town.

And if it doesn't work out? I'll stick up a "For Sale" sign and hand the keys back over. No harm, no foul.

I won't get rich. I won't get poorer, either. But most important, I sure as hell won't ever have to depend on someone else's good nature to put me up while I get my feet back on the ground.