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.

Recently, someone left a very vicious comment regarding a post I made about feeling pain that my mother wanted to sell the family home and how it had stirred up the realization that I depended very much on other people for survival.

Well, the comment deserves an answer, if only so that I can defend myself.

We at FWW are asked to write on our personal experiences, thoughts and feelings in our journey of separation and divorce. That means that what we write here is, in that definition, stories that are all about us.

The commentator felt very upset that I made no mention of how grateful I am for what others have done or how I should be thankful for kindnesses shown to me through my life.

I make no mention of these things because they are truly deeper feelings than I care to share here with the world in public. Sex? Sure. Divorce? No problem. Kids? Why not? Pain, hurt and tears? Alright. But for me to discuss my feelings of family and my family itself is beyond the mandate of this position and beyond what I wish to share with the world.

Some direct quotes I'd like to address:

"You have no sense of family unity...nowhere in your story do you mention other siblings, which in turn means you're very selfish."

I have four siblings who have all moved either across the country or to another continent. I am the sole child who has chosen to remain within 20 minutes of my mother. If I moved farther, my mother would be alone and see none of her grandchildren at all. Quite the lonely life indeed, so I do what I can to prevent it.

"You have been married twice, divorced twice..."

Sweetheart, it's a blog about divorce. Had I been married once and successful, I wouldn't be here writing. Or putting up with your slander and judgement.

"You have serious mental issues."

I realized last night that I have nothing of my own.

We went for supper at my mother's house, a huge, beautiful home with 36 acres of land. She lives alone there, out in the country, and she's ... well, she's getting old. It's time for her to sell.

But I don't want her to sell the house, because it's the only home I have. I was born and raised there. My childhood memories reside there. Me? I've just been living under other people's roofs for more than 20 years.

I don't own my own home. I owned half a house, once, in my first relationship, but we sold the house when we separated. In my second relationship, my partner owned everything and I was lucky (his words) to be supported by him.

Now I rent a house. I couldn't get a mortgage if I wanted to — my income isn't considered my own, since most of it comes from child support, and the banks don't take that money into account.
Realistically, mum's house is falling apart. It's old and she hasn't had the money to maintain it. She can't afford the upkeep and she's not doing well.

Emotionally, mum's house means everything to me, and I'm racking my brain to come up with a solution to save what I've always considered my safe place to go back to.

I'm upset. If my mother sells her home, then I have no home at all. I've lived this long in my life, and I don't have a house I can call my own. I'm just living in someone else's space — again. Even my car belongs to someone else — I'm still making payments on it.

And today, I'm feeling like a little kid who has to depend on other people to support me and who can lose everything in a heartbeat.

You've decided to end an unhappy relationship. Good for you! That's a great first step towards a more healthy life.

Now what?

Many women who decide to leave their husbands or partners bite off more than they can chew. They put their foot down, they announce the end, and then they pack all they can fit in their cars to get out of the house as quickly as they can.

This is not a smart thing to do, unless the relationship is dangerous.

While it may be painful to stay a little longer in the household, planning what comes next is a good way to move from your current living arrangement to your newfound freedom with relatively little upheaval.

Does it make sense to drag yourself and your children to your mother's house or a friend's apartment, then move out two weeks later into a place you don't really like because you couldn't stand not being on your own? No.

Sit down and talk to your partner about not leaving the household, even if you're leaving the relationship. Just because you won't be a couple anymore doesn't mean you have to scramble to get out fast. Your house is still your home — for now.

Give yourself a few weeks or even a month or two to find a good home for yourself. Visit different apartments and locations. Don't pick the first available place you see.

Plan your financial situation. Take a look at the available resources, and consider big expenses you'll need to deal with, like furniture and appliances.

Include your children in the move. Let them see possible places to live, and give them the chance to voice their opinions. Your children can help you choose furniture, too. Kids should feel like they're moving on to a newer and happier phase of life. They should never feel like they're being yanked out of their own home into the great unknown.

Pack slowly and carefully. Minimize the haphazard tossing into boxes so common with a fast move. Items are broken or lost that way.