Your gut instinct is there for a reason. It's a hardwired sixth sense in your brain that tells you exactly when something isn't right. It's survival in its most primitive form.

And boy, have we ever evolved. We've learned to ignore that gut instinct, going against everything it whispers to us (and sometimes even what it screams at us), and we've even managed to talk it down, telling ourselves we're being silly.

Or stupid. Or nonsensical. Or whiny. Or melodramatic ... yeah, we're pretty good at tripping our own brains up.

I've read a few posts where the women here have said they can pinpoint that exact moment when they knew something was wrong or when they knew it wasn't going to work out.

And yet, from the stories they've shared, it took everyone a very long time to really realize what our gut instinct already knew. I've had those moments, too.

I knew three months into my first relationship that it wasn't going to be a winner. I stayed for 10 years before calling it what it was: over.

My second relationship was the same — three weeks to fall in love, three months to know it wouldn't last, 10 years to walk out the door.

I think three and 10 might be important numbers for me to keep in mind.

So why is it that we don't pay attention to that automatic gut instinct that is desperately trying to save us from ourselves? Why don't we listen more? Why don't we take a deep breath, look inwards and say, "Alright, buddy, shoot. What have you got to tell me?"

No, we distract ourselves from the reality. We shake it off, think of something else, tell ourselves we're just being silly.

Worse, we let our sixth sense whisper at us, wearing us down mentally while we smile and pretend on the outside. We do bugger-all to change anything about our situation.

No, next week was not better. Next week was far too long for a little girl missing her daddy. I pointed that out. 

"Aw, don't make me feel guilty. I really don't want to feel guilty about this. I need time to do my own things and..." 

When you separate and you have children, be prepared. Be prepared to be the one who has to explain, gently, why we can't go see Daddy. Or why Daddy doesn't come have supper more often. Or why daddy has to leave to go home. 

Despite being used to this, despite knowing all the right words and the proper how-tos, I still feel the pain of having to disappoint a child when Dad just doesn't want to be a dad. 

Does it make me mad? Sure. Sure it does. Fathers should be there for their kids — all the time. 

What makes this such a hot issue when a couple splits up, though? I know married couples that live together and the father works 70 hours a week. He barely sees his kids. I know mothers too wrapped up in their own lives to care for their kids. 

When a couple splits up, why do people suddenly get all upset if dad doesn't want the kids for a day or a week? What changed beyond the situation before? 

I don't begrudge my ex his need for time on his own. No one should have to have their weeks full of work and responsibilities with no spare time left to relax and do what they want.

There's compromise, too. My girl wants to see her dad. Dad wants to be alone for a while. "How about if we come at 3 and just stay for a few hours? You have time to do your stuff and she'll be happy to see you."

I always wanted a ring. It didn't have to be fancy. It didn't have to have diamonds or cost a fortune. I just wanted the symbolic gift of something I could hold in my hand.

I did get a ring, once. My first ex proposed with a ring he'd bought on my credit card. Since I paid for the thing, I kept it, even after we split up. It'll make a nice memento for my daughter one day.

But I never got a ring from my second ex. I'd asked, too. Nothing. I wonder why that is. Did he fear the commitment a ring symbolized? Did a ring carry less meaning and thus was often forgotten?

I gave my ex a ring for his birthday last year. I'm not sure why I did; it clearly meant more to me than to him, but they say that the best gifts are those that come from the heart. It was a silver worry ring with an endless braid running around it.

He seemed to enjoy it. He wore it that weekend at a fishing trip, making sure to place his hand in the light to attempt drawing attention. When people didn't really notice, he made sure they did and proudly (and charmingly shyly) mentioned I'd given it to him.

But he didn't wear the ring all the time. His job involves a lot of dirt, and he'd take the ring off to keep it both clean and safe so that he didn't accidentally lose it.

Murphy's law. Sure enough...

"I can't find the ring you gave me," he mentioned this weekend. He'd looked everywhere. He didn't look frantic as he shared the news, though, just a little puzzled.

I have to admit that I was hurt. I guess that ring meant more to me than I realized. I did want to be married one day. I did want someone to commit to me forever. I did want someone to care about me that much that the person would take the steps to be a solid couple.

I wanted the Cinderella story. What I got was everyday real life. Oh well.

"It'll turn up somewhere," I said.

"Rake over there!" My ex pointed to a patch about 100 feet from where I'd decided to amuse myself with old leaves. I bristled almost immediately.

"I'll rake where I please," I answered, lifting my chin a little.

It's a backlash effect, a reaction to the way things used to be. There was no reason for me to be upset. My daughter and I had come to the country to have a nice day in the sun with Dad, and we were all in a good mood. My ex hadn't meant for it to sound like an order; he was just telling me which area needed raking the most.

But I can't stand being told what to do. The last eight years of our relationship were full of control and possession, and I'm afraid I wasn't the one running the show.

My ex was extremely controlling. He told me who I could see and when. He would time my outings down to the last minute and explode if I was home late — even when it was just a grocery run or I'd been held up by a slow tractor on the road.

I don't blame him. He operated out of fear of losing control. He knew things were rocky. He loved me, I loved him, but we were so mentally separated from each other that he felt he had no other way to hang onto me.

So he'd rule with an iron fist (thank god not literally) and I would comply to his every wish in the hopes of accomplishing peace and affection. I dropped all my friends. I did what he wanted. I went where he told me. After a while, it became too much trouble to even go out.

For a long time, I lived in fear. He scared me. I felt worn down and beaten. I was tired. I was afraid to leave and needed to leave like the desert needs rain. I thought if I told him I wanted out that he would hurt me.

But I did it and he didn't do it.

Now, we live apart and love together. We're a couple under two roofs. We have our bad times still, but we have good times more often — enough to make it worth it.

They say the mirror has two faces, and I think that's true. I don't think that one is simply a reflection of the other, though.

My second ex always had two faces: one that he'd present to everyone else in the world and one that he'd show to me.

People would always smile when they saw my ex. They liked him. He was friendly and personable. He would joke and laugh. He could be very helpful and forthcoming when he saw others were in a bind.

It didn't surprise me that people were shocked when we announced our separation. "But he's such a great guy," they'd say, aghast I'd consider leaving my partner.

Yes. He is a great guy. Just not with me.

I often asked my ex, "Why can't you be like that all the time? Why can't you be like that with me?" He couldn't see the difference. To him, he was being the very same with me, only more open and honest. I found him blunt and disrespectful.

My mother used to call me when the 6 o'clock news reported a man killing his girlfriend or a spouse beating up his partner. I can still hear the contempt in her voice. "Did you hear what they said about the guy? He was such a great guy."

I think that people who live together learn very quickly to take each other for granted. They relax their guard and assume that because they're a couple, they can be themselves. They don't have to maintain appearances in the comfort of their own home.

Now, when my ex and I talk about other couples, we're a little smarter and a whole lot wiser. When we hear of someone who sounds dissatisfied, we give each other a knowing glance. Appearances must be upheld in public; behind closed doors, it's a different story.

I've also learned how to answer people who mention how my ex is such a great guy. "Yes, he is," I smile. "Just not with me."

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.

Discussing divorce, relationships, and heartaches is easy. Many of the issues are the same: hurt feelings, arguments over money, fear of the future.

Many issues are not.

There's a huge difference in situations between a woman in her 20s with no children and a good job leaving a husband and a woman in her 40s with two kids leaving a husband who has supported her for 20 years.

A single woman in her 20s has way more chance of picking up the pieces to move on to something better. There's a greater chance of starting over, of finding Mr. Right, of getting out in the social world. She can focus on herself. She can go out. She only has herself to worry about.

But a woman in her 40s with kids and a poor record of work history is going to struggle. Getting out, for this woman, is probably as good as a trip to the grocery store with kids hanging off a leg, begging for cookies or toys. She's probably dressed in sweatpants, has messy hair, and is worried about whether her debit card will pass at the cash register.

Is that an unrealistic perspective? Is it an unfair one? I don't think so.

I'm sort of in the middle. I have kids, and I'm closer to 40 than 20 in years. But I have a good job, and while my ex had supported me during some periods of my life, I mainly got by on my own steam. I wear sweatpants to the grocery store, but I'm young enough that I might get a second glance or two while I'm there.

I can't help but feel, though, that by the time my kids are grown, my freedom is back and when I'm ready to move on with moving on, I'll be too old. I think I'm over the hill. I won't have the pick of the litter and I'll have to work on integrating myself back into society a little harder.

Maybe not. What do you think?

All right, I admit it. I'd like to be a drunk. 

I don't honestly mean that, of course, because when you're a lush, you don't have any life at all. You're bankrupt, you're boozing, and you're probably in bad need of a shower.

But boy, I would so like to ditch the responsibilities right now and just feel sorry for myself.

My neighbor called me not long ago. "I think you're having a depression," she ventured carefully. Actually, scratch that. She wasn't careful about it at all.

But no. No depression for me. I wish. I've had six of those depressions and I know exactly what it feels like when they start to creep into your life. It's like you're in a shoebox and the lid is closing slowly down on you.

No, what I'm feeling these days is just rat-tired and sorry for myself. I'm tired of my ex who breezes in once a week to provide daycare to his daughter. I'm tired of my other ex who just breezes in whenever he wants. I'm tired of my kids.

It's been three years and five months since my last (very last) daughter was born. I spent a year and a half nurturing her while clinically depressed and I spent two years getting my feet back under me after leaving my husband.

Now I want to have "me" time. And by this point, I don't think a day will be enough. I want a week. Three weeks. A month.

I just want to ditch all consequences for a while, so I can appreciate what I have in my life once I'm ready to be a single parent again.

Whining? Oh yeah. I'm whining. I'm a woman. Aren't I allowed?

"Why don't you love me the way I love you? Why don't you feel things as deep as I do?" —Amanda Marshall

I once went to an Amanda Marshall concert, my first concert in 10 years. My ex and I were on the rocks at the time, and we were trying to somehow get back in a relationship that worked.

When Amanda Marshall sang, "Why don't you love me?" I burst into tears. Here I was, in the dark with a crowd around me singing at the top of their lungs while waving lighters, crying my eyes out.

The song summed up everything — how lonely I felt in a relationship between two people that only involved one person's feelings.

That feeling came back to me so swiftly when I read Megan's post about her own loneliness in her marriage that I nearly cried again.

She's right. A broken marriage is a painfully lonely experience for the person that doesn't understand why this happened. It's hard to fight for so many years for what you believe in, and you become worn down.

You hurt. And you have no one to hold you to make you feel better.

So Megan, I understand. I know that feeling, and I know how you feel more than you might realize. It's going to take the time it takes before you reach your breaking point — and that day will come — so I wanted to let you know that while you're hurting, you have someone out there that "gets" how lonely you feel.

I hope that one day, you'll look back as I can now and say, "You know what? They said it'd be okay... and it is."

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.