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My partner and I live in different homes. Our son moves between, and we each enjoy having time to ourselves each week.

by with No Comment Xpandfy

This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Luana Ribeira, founder of Dauntless PR. It has been edited for length and clarity.

Little about my relationship with Al is traditional. For starters, Al was my former husband’s best friend. After my husband and I divorced, I moved to Portugal, where Al was living. I was planning on spending time with Al as a friend, but the second time we hung out, he called my ex to say, “There’s something here.” Luckily, my ex gave his blessing.

I started dating Al soon after, in 2017. In 2020, we moved to the UK, where I’m from. That’s when we decided to have separate bedrooms. We both were having trouble sleeping at the time, and enjoyed having our own space. We had a spare room, so Al started sleeping in there.

Eventually, we wanted even more space from each other. At the time, my two teenage daughters were living with us, and the house was loud. Al craved quiet, and that was fine with me — I wanted him to take care of himself. He converted an existing warehouse on our property into a bedsit (similar to a studio apartment). He slept there and used it when he needed quiet time to create art or watch TV.

We wanted different settings for our home

Last June, we moved back to Portugal, with our 4-year-old son, Celyn. By that point in our relationship, Al and I recognized that we live completely opposite lifestyles at home. I like creature comforts and wanted my dream lakeside home in Portugal. Al was interested in becoming even more self-sufficient, living off-grid if possible.

Al already owned about an acre of land in Portugal. He put a yurt on the land, and now lives there without running water and with only limited solar power. The one modern amenity I insisted on was wifi, so I can get a hold of him and Celyn.

I meanwhile rent a two-bedroom home with a pool. I can see a nearby lake from my windows. I’m still in a rural area, but nowhere near as rural as Al.

We follow a strict weekly schedule

We have a family schedule that might look familiar to separated parents, though Al and I are very much together. On Sunday nights, Al and Celyn go to the yurt. I work long days on Monday and Tuesday, and also have time to swim and make any appointments I need to.

On Wednesday morning, I pick Celyn up. That’s my favorite part of the week, seeing him run down the lane toward me. I have Celyn on my own until Friday night, when Al comes to spend the weekend with us. That family time always happens at my house, since it’s more comfortable.

Our weekends as a family are sacred to us. It’s also nice to have one-on-one time with our son and to have alone time built into the week.

This arrangement lets us be ourselves

Our homes are about 50 minutes apart right now. If something pops up with work, I can’t just send Celyn to his dad’s on a whim. Sometimes I feel like I’m driving all the time, so I’ll probably move closer to Al in the future.

Financially, there’s not a huge expense involved with having two homes. Al already owned his land. I’m the sole earner in our relationship, so I bought the yurt, and I finance projects on the land as they come up. Luckily, there are a few bills with an off-grid homestead.

I know this isn’t for everyone, but I’m glad that Al and I can do what’s right for us. We want to support each other, and don’t want to ask our partner to change who they are. Living apart gives us the space we need to be ourselves, while still being a family.




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My son bought a $2 car and learned how to fix it himself. It gave him the independence he was craving.

by with No Comment Xpandfy

My eldest felt a strong urge to own a car for most of his teenage years. He would pop into the living room and show his dad and me his latest internet find, usually a 20-year-old jalopy with questionable reliability costing several thousand dollars.

Each summer break, he would talk about buying a car with us. Each time, we wouldn’t say no. We would just urge him to consider his situation as a full-time student with an uncertain future.

We provided transportation to and from school, and while there, he walked, rode a bike, and grabbed rides from friends. Each time, he decided on his own that it might not be the smartest time to invest a couple of thousand dollars in a car of questionable repair.

He got a deal from a family friend

The summer before his junior year of college, however, a family friend offered him a deal he couldn’t pass up. It was a 20-year-old Volvo wagon that had a run-in with a deer. The front end was crumpled, it was undrivable, and he didn’t have the title. But the price was right — $2, twice the friend’s original purchase price of a buck.

In some ways, it was a bold move. My son didn’t have much experience in car mechanics. During that school break, he put money and time into repairs. He straightened the front radiator support with a winch so all the parts would fit again. He replaced the radiator and flushed out the intercooler. By the end, it stayed in motion long enough to limp to a storage barn for the winter.


Abandoned car

The author’s son learned how to fix the car with YouTube videos.

Courtesy of the author



The next summer, it was his main focus. He installed a new radiator fan, bought a new battery. Replaced two tires and had them aligned. Put in a new headlight and did more bodywork. He cleaned it, inside and out. And just a couple of days before returning to college, the crowning glory: a salvaged hood that perfectly matched the golden hue of his car.

He learned a lot from fixing the car

There was a fair amount of angst. Figuring out the process for issuing a new title. Hunting down the owner who last had it and arranging a meeting. Ordering the wrong or incomplete parts and having to send them back. Determining what needed to be fixed and how much it cost. Calculating how much he should spend, even after fixing it up, the car was probably only worth about $2,000.

He elected to do much of the work himself, spending hours at the “University of YouTube.” At one point, as he lamented the money he had spent so far, with the possibility that it would all be for naught, my husband asked him how much a college credit hour costs. My son looked it up. It was exactly what he had spent so far on the car. My husband said, “Haven’t you learned a lot?”


Young man posing with car

The author says her son learned so much from fixing his own car.

Courtesy of the author



That helpful reframing stuck: The night before he drove the car to college, my son commented, “Hey, I got a free car at the end of that college class.” We celebrated with him that evening, telling him how proud we were of his persistence and frugality, of his push to learn something new.

He got the independence he wanted

Seeing him drive off in that car left an indelible impression on me. Armed with his insurance’s roadside assistance, a toolbox gifted by his dad, and a bag of extra fluids in the passenger seat, he set out on the 8-hour, 57-minute drive to York College in Pennsylvania from our home in Kentucky. He couldn’t shake the small, satisfied smile on his face. I couldn’t shake my delight and my apprehension.

Being the mom that I am, I asked him to text whenever he stopped so we could track him on his journey. First stop: at the coffee shop halfway, our usual lunch break, and the new thrift store next door. Next, at a Civilian Conservation Corps museum, he saw signs along the highway. Finally, in the parking lot of his dorm. Even through text, I could sense the satisfaction and pride he felt for accomplishing that trip in his own ride.

In the ensuing months, the $2 car has safely delivered him each week to his internship and to a friend’s house for fall break. It has given him a measure of independence he didn’t have before. And it gave him something we, as parents, couldn’t, no matter how much we wanted to: a sense of self-sufficiency. That was something he had to earn.

We could only encourage him, support him, and talk him through his next steps, then see if he succeeded or failed. In the end, he knew that he could handle the road ahead by himself.




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Hilary Duff says she divorced when her son was 2 to show him you have to ‘fight for your happiness’

by with No Comment Xpandfy

Hilary Duff, 38, says she walked away from her first marriage because she didn’t want to sacrifice her own happiness — even as a young mom.

On Wednesday’s episode of “Call Her Daddy,” the “Lizzie McGuire” star spoke about navigating a divorce in her late 20s and how motherhood shaped her approach.

Duff split from her first husband, Mike Comrie, in 2015. They share a son, Luca, who was born in 2012.

“I knew from my parents’ divorce that I was going to show my kid that you’ve got to fight for your happiness. And I knew that it was going to be better to do it when he was younger than it was going to be when he was five and aware, or eight and aware,” Duff told podcast host Alex Cooper.

Duff added that kids can sometimes blame themselves when their parents’ marriage doesn’t work out.

“I was like, if Luca cannot remember this and have two lives that exist that he can be happy in and feel secure in, I think we’re winning,” she said.

Duff said therapy was essential in helping her process the end of her marriage, and ultimately, the experience taught her to stand up for herself.

“You’ve got to fight for yourself, and it doesn’t matter that you have kids. Your kids are going to be OK. You know what I mean? You just have to show them that you also matter,” Duff said.

As a parent, it’s easy to lose yourself in your child and feel like their needs should outweigh your own, she said. But she added it was also “important” not to let that be the deciding factor in whether she stayed in an unhappy marriage.

Duff added that mom guilt can sometimes overshadow her own feelings.

“There’s this part of your brain where you’re like, ‘Yeah, I’m still in here, and I’m still me,’ and then there’s this huge shadow over it that’s like, ‘But everything for the family and everything for your kid,'” she said.

Duff added that finding balance between motherhood and her own identity is something she has to work at.

“It’s a constant conversation to choose yourself and choose something you know that you enjoy outside of family life and kids,” she said.

In 2019, Duff married Matthew Koma, and the couple has three daughters.

Duff isn’t the only celebrity who has spoken about navigating divorce with kids.

In a 2022 podcast appearance, Kim Kardashian said she tries to protect Ye, formerly known as Kanye West, in the “eyes of my kids, for my kids.”

“One day my kids will thank me for not sitting here and bashing their dad when I could. They’ll thank me and I’ll privately answer anything that they want to know. But it’s not my place anymore to jump in,” she said.

In February, Miranda Kerr said choosing forgiveness helped her co-parent peacefully with her ex, Orlando Bloom.

“When you have a child with someone else, they’re always going to be that person’s parent for the rest of their life. There are going to be situations where you’re going to need to talk if you like it or not. So why not make it harmonious?” Kerr said.




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I have the best talks with my preteen son when I drive him to school in the morning. I hope he knows I’m always here for him.

by with No Comment Xpandfy

When my son was still under 5, I worked at the local library. In my free time, my son was basically my best buddy. My supervisor at the time had teenagers, so she was in a different parenting stage than I was.

I remember her saying that the secret to keeping her kids close was to drive them around as much as possible. This kept her kids talking to her and enabled her to maintain close relationships with them.

She was so right with her advice.

My son is now a tween

My son just turned 12, and the shift from boy to teenager seems to have happened overnight. He is becoming more independent and less talkative — with me, but not his social circle.

I know it’s the natural order of things for him to spread his wings and to push back a bit against me. But sometimes I just really miss my best buddy and all the fun we had spending time together when he was little. Now, when he’s home from school, he’s often in his room talking on the phone with his friends or playing games online with them.

I think my former boss’s wisdom stuck with me, because the idea of my son growing up and not wanting to talk to me scared me. I’ve come to realize that driving my son around whenever I get the chance is basically priceless. Right now, drives with him are primarily to and from school, but during football or basketball seasons, all of the practices and games really add up. This year, sixth grade has really felt like a turning point, because I’ve noticed an increase in invites to parties, hangouts, and sleepovers.

I realize that as he gets older, these social outings will only increase. And then one day, when he’s closer to age 16, he’ll likely have a part-time job to add to his schedule. As long as he doesn’t have a car, I know I’ll be his main source of transportation. Instead of dreading, I know these are actually the hidden opportunities, like diamonds in the rough, to remain connected to him as he grows up.

It’s best to allow our conversations to flow naturally

I never try to force a topic on him, because I have found that it’s not the best timing for discipline-based or serious talks. I’m sure he feels trapped, so he shuts down, and it ruins the safe space I’m trying to develop out of our car rides. Allowing the conversation to flow organically is when he’ll surprise me and ask me something random or open up about something that’s been bothering him.

Even if he doesn’t open up every time, I know I’m giving him the space to do so. Often, after a few minutes of being stuck in the car together, one of us will start talking about something. I think having the music on and sightseeing on our way everywhere gives our brains distractions and talking points. It feels like the car is sometimes the white flag zone, where we stop arguing and start talking again.

While he’s mostly reserved, there are other times when he’s more open and chatty, and I just let him vent and do my best to listen. It’s likely therapeutic to have someone who will just listen to him at his age, but it might also be easier for him to open up to me side-by-side instead of face-to-face. Knowing there’s an endpoint, such as knowing we’ll be at his school in five minutes, likely helps too.

I hope I’m also sending him the message that I won’t stop showing up

Willingly taking him everywhere he needs to go daily, I think, is communicating to him that I’m not going to stop showing up for him. That no matter how tense things may be at times between us, I’m going to continue to be there for all of it.

I think it reassures him that I’m not going to give up on my job as his mom, even when things get tough. I’ll be sitting there in silence if that’s what he needs, but the message I hope to send him is: I’m still here.




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In my 60s, I sold the home I raised my son in and took a job on a cruise ship. It gave me the freedom I needed.

by with No Comment Xpandfy

At almost 70, with my son grown and building his own creative life, I realized the home I had poured myself into for two decades no longer supported the future I wanted.

For almost 20 years, that house looked like the picture of stability. Teal doors, a tire swing, and a sunny studio beside the garage. It was where I raised my son as a single mother and built my photography career. Most people assumed I would stay there forever.


House exterior

The author decided to sell the house were she raised her son.

Courtesy of the author



But when my son graduated and moved to Orlando, something shifted. I had spent years encouraging him to live the life he wanted. Suddenly, I realized I needed to do the same.

The house was a money pit

Behind the postcard charm, a truth emerged. The house no longer supported my future. What once felt like a comfortable sanctuary had become a moneypit, its growing debt reminding me daily that I could not afford the life or the freedom I wanted. I had built a home to raise a confident and independent child, and I had done that, but holding on to the house was keeping me from evolving into the next chapter of my life, a chapter filled with creative possibilities that debt made impossible to pursue.


Baby items

The author purged her belongings before selling her house.

Courtesy of the author



Sorting through the rooms, I noticed how little the objects mattered. It was never the things, only the memories. And memories do not require storage space. I photographed what mattered, donated most of the rest, and watched the remnants of my old life line the curb. Letting go gave me breathing room for the first time in years. I could imagine what came next.

I sold the house and found confidence

Selling the house gave me the financial and emotional space to address something I had avoided for years. I needed extensive dental work, and with missing teeth, I no longer felt confident in my own smile. As a photographer, I had spent decades coaxing others to relax while I avoided the lens myself.


Rio de Janeiro

The author traveled to Brazil after selling her house.

Courtesy of the author



I trusted a cosmetic dentist in southern Brazil, the parent of an exchange student I once hosted, and the cost was far more realistic than in the United States. After surgery and the initial healing, I traveled to Rio. For the first time in years, I felt free to focus my lens and smile at the world around me without hesitation.

The physical and financial weight I had carried for years began to lift. Brazil restored my confidence and reminded me that reinvention was still possible.

I took a job on a cruise

Before selling my house, I had researched ways to travel while working. A friend hosted dinners as a sommelier on cruise ships, and my algorithm kept suggesting photography jobs at sea. I applied to a few with curiosity.


Cruise

The author took a job as a cruise photographer.

Courtesy of the author



While I was still in Rio, the call came. I was offered a contract as the master photographer on a premium luxury cruise line, a role that would take me across multiple continents. To qualify, I needed a Seafarer Certificate, which at my age required extensive medical tests and functional exams. It was humbling, but I passed.

I was notified with less than a week to prepare that my contract would start in Sydney. After a 31-hour flight, knowing I would board within 24 hours, I dropped my bags at the hotel and walked the waterfront from Darling Harbor to the Opera House. A mist hung in the air, turning the city into a soft shimmer through my lens.

Life at sea was a study in contrasts. I photographed in a studio on the 15th floor but slept far below in a windowless cabin. I climbed endless flights of stairs each day. The ancient programs, cameras, and equipment made my days long and tedious. But above deck, the ocean made everything worth it. An unobstructed sunset on open water can shift your entire mood. Each time we reached a new port, the world opened again. My creative mojo began to gel for the first time in a long while, and I realized I was able to absorb so much only because I had let go of so much.

A new home and a new beginning

In six months, I had visited three continents, become healthier than I had been in years, and for the first time in decades, my smile came without hesitation. My financial responsibilities felt lighter, and the spark I had been missing finally came back after years of accumulating belongings and obligations that had kept me anchored when I was ready to sail into another chapter filled with creativity.

While recovering in Miami from an injury, I received another unexpected call. An apartment had become available in the Asbury Park building where I had applied years earlier. It had an ocean view, a community of artists and musicians, and a rent I could actually afford. It felt like the universe was giving me the chance to finally act on my hopes and creativity.

I had let go of everything that once held me back. What I gained was freedom, the freedom to create, to travel, and to smile freely again, with my camera as my ticket forward.




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