Although I complained about it for months, I knew if I wanted to be officially divorced, I was going to have to fill out all of the paper work myself.

For 14 years, I was the one that filed our taxes, I was in charge of our finances, and I filled out the kids’ school forms and medical forms, so why would I expect the divorce to be any different? Plus, I was the one who needed closure.

At the time, filling out some forms while the kids played seemed quite doable. But soon enough, “some” forms, turned into 49 forms, all in a language I didn’t understand. I believe it’s called legalese, but really it should be called bullshit.

I rarely felt sentimental or any emotion besides frustration while wading through the bullshit, so I was surprised to find myself crying on the morning I was scheduled to file the papers with the courthouse.

“I’m getting divorced today,” I cried to my mom when she showed up to watch the kids.

“I know,” she said.

“I’m so tired of doing everything myself. Why do I have to take care of everyone and everything?”

“I don’t know,” she said and gave me a hug.

I drove to the courthouse feeling as if I was going to vomit the entire way. I wasn’t having second thoughts about ending my marriage, I just felt violently ill and didn’t know why.

I parked, naively filled the meter with forty five minutes worth of change, and walked to the courthouse.

Three hours, several sprints to the meter, and five offices later, I was still there. I was not divorced, nor did it seem that becoming divorced was ever going to happen.

I had successfully spent the last three hours completely numb, not understanding or feeling anything, but merely doing as I was told while in a fog.

But while waiting for a court appointed attorney in what must have been the sixth office I visited that day, the haze lifted and nausea returned. I walked out to the stairwell, crouched down on the marble floor, needing desperately to feel something solid and grounded, and breathed deeply. That helped a bit, but I needed more, so I called my Greek friend.

Greek had only recently entered my life, but when I thought about who I could call that would be 100 percent available to me for 10 minutes, who wouldn’t be distracted by kids, coworkers or computers beeping, and who would know what I needed, because I didn’t have a clue, I knew it was him.

When he answered the phone, I said, “I’m crouching in the middle of the courthouse and I think I’m going to puke.” He soothed me with beautiful mermaid stories and fierce Kali tales and then told me I was going to be all right because I was a powerful mermaid/Kali as well.

I’d come this far, all I needed to do now was make it through two more offices.

“You can do this,” he said. “You’re an amazing woman.” And once I believed him, I hung up the phone and resumed my waiting, nodding and filling out of even more paperwork.

Two days later, I attended an art show and new Reality Mom debut with my friend Courtney. A woman named Karen with beautiful purple glasses approached me. We skipped pleasantries and she immediately asked, “Have you ever been to Salem, Mass.?”

“No, why?”

“Because I think you’d be moved by the courthouses there.”

“I just spent the day at the courthouse here and thought I was going to faint,” I said.

“I know,” she smiled. “Something is moving through you. I think the worst is over.”

This may seem like a strange conversation to have, but to me it was the only conversation to have. I was still trying to understand why I was so rattled by the courthouse, but as soon as Salem was mentioned I understood.

Courthouses are just like churches, and every time I set foot into either, I feel sick. As if I’m being persecuted.

As a little girl, I always felt nauseous when I attended church.

In my 20s, I nearly passed out walking down the aisle of a red Episcopalian church for a friend’s wedding.

After catching me and fanning me, my friend Lori said, “Most people don’t have such a strong reaction to churches. I think you were a witch in a past life, and you’re afraid you are going to be burned at the stake.”

I believed her and have avoided churches ever since. And, now I realize courthouses have the same affect on me.

Similar to my church experiences, I didn’t understand anything people were saying at the courthouse, I just understood I had done things “incorrectly.”

As a child, my sin was being an unbaptized heathen. In the courthouse, my sins were not having a lawyer fill out my paperwork, being as vague as possible on our parenting plan so we could adjust it according to the kid’s needs and our schedules, and refusing to ask for alimony from my ex-husband.

My punishment was hell, otherwise known as endless lines and unyielding city officials. Although I believed this was a perfectly rational, humane and respectful way to deal with divorce, in the court’s eyes, it was wrong.

I wasn’t supposed to leave the office to call a man I hardly knew, I was supposed to make my ex-husband pay me money he doesn’t have, and I should know how I’m going to spend Martin Luther King Jr. Day for the rest of my life.

Doing things my way ruffled feathers and caused me to be admonished, just like women helping other women give birth, save lives, and offer spiritual advice was considered “wrong” so many years ago. So wrong, that she could be hung or burned for her “crimes.”

And as we all know, similar punishments are still inflicted on women world wide.

My courthouse experience has become so much more than getting divorced. It is about seeking and obtaining the freedom and liberation I need and having the confidence to do things my way.

When I start to doubt this, I’m learning that it is all right to ask for help. In fact, it’s crucial that I’m able to accept that help and stop feeling as if I have to do everything myself.

And most of all, it is about being true to myself and making sure I will never, ever be persecuted for my beliefs again. And if I have to vomit in public to remember this, it will be a small price to pay.

Corbin Lewars (corbinlewars.com) is the founder of Reality Mom (www.realitymomzine.blogspot.com), author of "Creating a Life" (Catalyst Book Press, 2010) and the sexy mommy-lit book "Swings" (out for submission). She lives in Ballard with her two children.