Every time I watch the opening sequence of the Netflix series The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, I cry. A hand reaches down to help Kimmy out of a bunker where she was held prisoner for 15 years. She emerges into bright sunlight, smiling broadly as a man proclaims “females are strong as hell” and “that's gonna be a fascinating transition.”

At the end of my first marriage, I felt like Kimmy, helped by hands real and invisible out of a dark place to reclaim my life. I was on my own, making decisions just for me, without accommodating another person.

This was a big deal. At 48, I was living alone for the first time since my early twenties, outside of a romantic relationship for the first time since my early teens. Adopting the creed of recovering addicts and Elizabeth Gilbert in her memoir Eat, Pray, Love, I vowed not to get involved with anyone for a year. I needed to discover who I was, what I wanted, what dreams were worth pursuing, and I had to do this on my own. It was, indeed, a fascinating transition!

Things lived and learned during my year alone:

• Experiencing perimenopause and divorce simultaneously is hell.

• Writing in cafes distracts from loneliness.

• Going to parties alone is hard, but necessary.

• People view the single you as incomplete.

• They plot, often stealthily, to re-couple you.

• Friends come forward and invite you into their homes and families.

• Others keep a distance, and you sense their unease around your actions.

• Your food habits become primitive; you eat every meal out of the same bowl.

• You lose weight and this is commented upon unfavorably, which makes you self-conscious.

• You live in a house with almost no furniture.

• You go on weekly hikes with your best friend’s husband.

• He shares his snacks, and makes you laugh.

• You discover you’re open to dating women.

• Your mother becomes The Godfather/mother, circling the wagons, and it’s almost scary.

• The Satyrs of Asheville sniff out your availability.

• Everything is closed on Christmas and it’s about the loneliest you’ve ever been.

• You mourn hard that you never had children.

• You have to let that go.

• You purge a lot of your wardrobe.

• You splurge on new outfits and shoes.

• You visit Victoria’s Secret and get fitted for lovely bras.

• The clerk is very handsy.

• You wonder if she senses you’re open to dating women.

• You go to the Bobbi Brown cosmetic counter at Belks, and buy some makeup.

• When you get home, you immediately remove all the makeup the clerk put on your face.

• Your hair falls out from stress.

• Your hairdresser tells you that’s normal and is very kind.

• You spend a lot of time wrapped up in blankets, staring at trees in your backyard.

• You become unreasonably concerned that one of those trees will fall on the house.

• You have to let that go.

• You go on hormones and make an appointment with a therapist.

• EMDR therapy is challenging and healing.

• You realize you’ve lost track of your dreams and you want them back.

• Acting normal at work is difficult; you accept vulnerability and confess your struggles.

• You later regret this, but you did your best.

• You see aspects of your life mirrored in melodramatic tv shows.

• Friends go along with this and name people you know after villainous characters.

• You understand more life changes need to be made, but it’s not the right time.

• You become very angry with yourself, and then you work to forgive.

• You vow never to keep yourself from doing something just because you’re afraid.

• This leads, inevitably, to belly dancing in a public recital in front of a cheering crowd.

• You slowly re-furnish your home from consignment shops.

• You start playing flute, baking bread, and cooking soup before dawn.

• Friends indulge your pre-dawn texts featuring photos of bread and soup.

• They also indulge audio messages of flute playing.

• You light candles in the darkness, and watch the sun come up.

• You have a house blessing and paint all the walls.

• You buy gnomes for the front and back yard, which makes you ridiculously happy.

• You host a gnome-naming party and people show up. With names.

• Love finds you when you’re not looking for it. You take it slow.

• This is YOUR year. He understands and supports you.

• You doubt you’ll ever be okay again; you’re so broken you’ll never be whole.

• Your friends and therapist tell you otherwise.

• One day, to your surprise, you're smiling broadly in bright sunlight.

• And you realize you’re going to be okay.

• You’re so much better that you take back those dreams.

• And live.