Being divorced is like being hit by a Mack truck. If you live

In the words of Jean Kerr, writer of wit and wisdom, we hear the sharp truth of broken bonds: “Being divorced is like being hit by a Mack truck. If you live through it, you start looking very carefully to the right and to the left.” This is no light comparison, but a vivid image of the devastation of divorce—a sudden, crushing force that shatters the life one thought secure. And yet, beneath the pain, Kerr points to the resilience that follows. To survive such an impact is to rise changed, sobered, and cautious, forever more watchful in the journey of love.

At the heart of this saying is the reality that divorce is a blow to the soul. Like the crash of a mighty vehicle, it is not merely the loss of a partner but the collapse of dreams, routines, and shared identity. The life that once seemed steady is overturned in an instant, leaving one bruised, disoriented, and uncertain of how to walk again. The metaphor of the Mack truck conveys both the suddenness and the enormity of the impact—a force no one can ignore, and from which no one walks away unchanged.

The ancients, though they lived in different times, knew the pain of severed unions. In the tales of Medea, betrayed and cast aside by Jason, we see the destructive fire of a heart torn apart by betrayal. In another tradition, the prophets spoke of Israel as a bride abandoned, left desolate yet still yearning for renewal. These stories, like Kerr’s words, remind us that the breaking of covenant wounds the very center of human identity. Divorce is not merely a private sorrow, but a cataclysm that shakes the foundations of the spirit.

History too offers examples of such devastation. Consider King Henry VIII of England, whose many broken marriages tore not only his household but also his kingdom apart. Each divorce or annulment was like a collision, shaking court, church, and state. But in the wake of these blows came a new caution, a new watchfulness—on the part of subjects, advisors, and even foreign powers, who observed Henry’s choices with wary eyes. The pattern reflects Kerr’s wisdom: from the violence of one fall comes the heightened awareness to guard against another.

Yet Kerr does not speak only of pain—she speaks also of survival. “If you live through it,” she writes, pointing to the resilience of the human heart. Though divorce may crush, it does not always destroy. Those who endure emerge with new eyes, eyes trained to see warning signs, to discern more carefully, to measure the road ahead before stepping forward. Pain becomes the teacher, caution becomes the companion, and wisdom grows out of sorrow. The one who survives does not walk blindly again.

The lesson here is clear: do not despise the pain of endings, for though they wound deeply, they also instruct. The suffering of divorce teaches discernment, patience, and vigilance. It warns against rushing headlong into new unions without thought, and it tempers the soul to value love more carefully, more wisely, when it is found again. To live through such a blow is to gain a deeper understanding of both oneself and the weight of commitment.

Practically, this means allowing yourself the space to heal before seeking anew. Let the lessons of your fall refine you: ask what blindness led to the crash, what warnings you ignored, what patterns you must change. Approach the future with open eyes, careful steps, and greater respect for the power of love to both heal and harm. Look to the right and to the left, as Kerr says—not in fear, but in vigilance, with the wisdom gained from what you have endured.

So let us remember Jean Kerr’s wisdom: divorce is like being struck by a Mack truck. It is sudden, crushing, and life-altering. But survival brings new vision. From the ruins rises a soul more cautious, more discerning, and more capable of guarding itself. For the wounds of the past, though painful, can become the teachers of the future, guiding us to walk more carefully on the road of love, and to honor more deeply the fragile, powerful bond of the human heart.