In the middle of the night, we packed up the van and woke the kids to start our 19-hour drive to Utah. It was 1 am when we hit the road, and the kids quickly fell back asleep as I drove into the quiet night. I plugged in my headphones and started with "Into The West" from Lord of the Rings, followed by a lot of Taylor Swift, whose songs seemed to resonate with our lives. As the sun began to rise, the kids woke up excitedly, asking if we were there yet. The surprise on their faces was priceless when I said, "We still have 14 hours to go." That day, we all learned a lot about patience. Heather and I knew this trip would be a significant undertaking, and we couldn't do it alone.

Going through a divorce brings waves of emotions that hit us differently. I was hesitant to write about my perspective on this trip, but I felt compelled to share some of the thoughts and lessons I learned. Before I proceed, please remember that everyone has unique experiences. What I share is my perspective alone. I've seen people read about mixed-orientation marriages, coming out, divorce, etc., and think it's just what their loved ones need to hear. I urge you to get to know that loved one first before sending anything their way. I will explain my perspective shortly.

We drove straight through to Utah, arriving that Saturday night around 9 pm. Despite the ongoing divorce process, we pushed forward with our plans. However, Heather and I quickly realized that no amount of preparation could fully equip us for the emotional toll the trip would take. Over the past three years, we've grown significantly as individuals, co-parents, and as a family. Since coming out, leaving the church, and announcing our divorce, we've processed, grieved, and learned a lot. This trip was the first time many people would see us in person after everything. We felt intense anxiety, concern, and uncertainty, almost canceling the trip several times. But the kids' excitement kept us going. Was it easy? No.

Divorce is a journey of finding oneself, one's voice, and one's sense of identity, affecting the entire family. Much of our anxiety stemmed from this process of self-discovery. Once Heather and I identified the root causes of our anxiety, we made better plans for the trip. Here's what we did:

• Got an Airbnb with plenty of space for separate rooms and for the kids to enjoy. This also gifted us a little sanctuary when feelings felt a little heavy.

• Rented a car so Heather could take the kids to her family reunions, while I could handle pick-ups and drop-offs and take them to my dad's family reunion.

• Maintained constant communication and check-ins.

On Monday, Heather took the kids to her family reunion. The emotions didn't hit me until I stood in the road, waving as they drove off. I turned around to find my mother and aunt with open arms, sharing tears. The firsts are always the hardest. In that moment, I learned the value of being present with someone in their discomfort, without needing the right words or plans.

In contrast, I had other conversations with comments like "the kids need a Mom and a Dad" or something along those lines. This can be hurtful and triggering. Heather and I will always be our kids' parents. Our family is simply undergoing a rearrangement, which can be uncomfortable for outsiders. What hurts most is when close ones don't ask, "How are you really doing these days?" but instead say, "everything is going to be okay" without taking the time to listen and learn about our lives.

I will never forget when a family member at Sunday dinner asked, "So really, how are you two doing?" This sparked a bigger conversation where we could share our feelings. After that, we felt seen and less alone in what we've been facing. Another impactful moment during the trip was celebrating my mom's birthday with her family up in the canyon. The peaceful sounds of the mountain river and the memories from years of visits filled the air. I was planning on picking up the kids from Heather that night, and the best route was a winding road overlooking a mountainside. Despite being labeled a two-lane road, it felt more like one lane to me. I usually love winding roads, but driving alone on a mountainside with major drop-offs terrified me. My mother noticed the fear in my eyes and, having grown up with mountains in their backyard, my parents offered to drive me to get the kids. As we drove, I quickly realized how grateful I was not to be driving up the mountain. I kept thanking them, and my mom said something like, "While we can't take away everything you're going through, we can help lift the load by navigating these curvy roads." As much as I would love for everything to be made right in a snap, the simple act of driving me up the mountain was just what I needed to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The kids were also super excited to see Grandma and Grandpa helping pick them up. It was also a tender mercy to have them along, as our middle child got very car sick, and I was able to comfort him on the way down the mountain.

As I mentioned earlier, I never want our lived experiences to be shared as a path everyone in similar situations should follow. Rather, I hope this can provide insight into one of the many unique experiences those in similar situations face.