After six years of marriage, the birth of our daughter, the acquisition of a poorly trained hypoallergenic dog, and the making of a TV show, Bobby & Harriet Get Married , about said union, I realised last year that I had to file for divorce. I never thought that I would be divorced, but it’s become apparent I never really thought about the act of being married. I got married in 2017, and I believed that was it – if you love someone you make it work.
But now, I believe love isn’t enough and it really is worth having a little think about whether you’re going to be compatible long-term. If, after that little think, you don’t believe you’re going to be – RUN. I knew immediately that I would write a show about my divorce.
The universe made it impossible not to laugh. The morning I tearfully took my ring off while staying in a hotel in Bristol, I went downstairs to breakfast, determined for a fresh start and promptly stumbled into a wedding fair happening in the lobby. I find writing jokes cathartic.
I’ve made jokes about my marriage, my anxieties and, most bravely, my chlamydia. Heartbreak can be a lonely experience, but comedy as an art form (not regulated by the Arts Council) is communal. When an audience laughs they are saying, “I understand you.
” I mean sure, they might think you’re a moron and that they’d never make the same terrible choices. But I’ve learnt from previewing my new show, Everything Always Works Out For Me , the pain of a break-up is universal. My favourite comedy makes light of the dark.
Tig Notaro did a masterful set about her cancer diagnosis just four days after she received it, Maria Bamford speaks of her mental health in a way that is incredibly vulnerable and incredibly funny. My show Slutty Joan in 2018 was about a sexual assault, so in comparison, my new show about my divorce has been a breeze. Slutty Joan helped me process what had happened to me.
I was still having panic attacks when I started writing the show, but by the end, I no longer felt like a victim. It would have been impossible to imagine that I barely think about my assault now. And I have comedy to thank for that (and, of course, a small car’s worth of therapy.
) When leaving a marriage, connection is key. I have loved meeting other single women at my shows whose lives have not panned out as expected. Sharing our experiences is crucial.
I couldn’t find the information I was looking for when I was thinking of ending my marriage. I would Google, “What is love?” and “Should marriage be this hard?” and all the responses were just, “Yes! Marriage is meant to be awful!” I know that isn’t true – a healthy marriage isn’t always cups of tea in bed, but it shouldn’t take more than it gives. I met so many women at my gigs in recent weeks, who have reaffirmed this.
None of us are “behind” or on our own, we all just wanted more for ourselves. Of course, divorce has brought real lows. There were moments where I physically couldn’t stop crying, but I’d need to pick my daughter up from nursery, so I’d call friends and say, “You have to make me laugh, so I don’t collect my kid looking like Gone Girl.
” They’d tell me stories about embarrassing smear tests or do a dance. Despite the lows and the occasional resemblance to a kidnap-faking sociopath, I feel so free. Divorce was painful, but necessary.
I am no longer walking on eggshells, except for the ones my daughter and I drop when we’ve whipped up some pancakes. Or at least something that resembles pancakes. There is so much fear at the start of a divorce you don’t know if either of you are going to lose your minds and become nasty.
You just have to pray you don’t become someone who painstakingly divides the paperclips to ensure your fair split. We somehow managed to do it without lawyers. Although that is probably only because we would rather physically wrestle than buy a lawyer a hot tub.
Comedy is the opposite of fear. By laughing at the enemy, we reclaim our power, and you definitely don’t need to be a comic to apply that philosophy. Compulsively oversharing is almost certainly my way of dealing with shame (hence the chlamydia jokes).
By speaking our secrets out loud, we minimise their power, and by constructing comedy, we reshape the narrative. It’s a form of processing. You can take the memory, face it head-on, reframe it, turn up the brightness and add a Paris filter.
Of course, I know my last year has been awful, but laughing at the ridiculousness of it – and spicy margaritas – have made it possible. Harriet Kemsley is currently on tour with her new show ‘Everything Always Works Out For Me’.
