It happened years ago, but I still think about Judy.
I was working on a brief, buried in legal paperwork, when my assistant told me I had an emergency call from a client. I dropped everything and picked up the phone. On the other end was Judy (not her real name), crying, overwhelmed, and clearly in distress.
My mind immediately jumped to all the “big” divorce emergencies—were her kids okay? Was the house being foreclosed? Had someone drained a bank account?
But when Judy caught her breath, her question hit me sideways:
“Who’s going to mow the grass?”
Now, before you judge Judy or laugh this off, stay with me. This question wasn’t really about the grass. Not entirely.
Judy had been married for more than 25 years. Like many couples, she and her spouse had divided the mental and physical load of life. Mowing the grass had always been his job—one of those invisible tasks that just… got done. She didn’t know if he did it, if they paid someone, how often it needed to happen, or even where the mower was kept.
What she did know was that life as she knew it was shifting beneath her feet. And the grass? That was just the tip of the iceberg.
Because let’s be honest—when you’re going through a divorce, your fears are not just about money, custody, or paperwork. It’s about everything. Everything you thought you knew. Everything you took for granted. Everything you’re now expected to figure out solo.
Judy wasn’t worried about the lawn. She was worried she couldn’t do it all. That she’d fail. That she’d be alone and unprepared. Her question was a stand-in for the flood of uncertainty so many people feel in the early stages of separation.
And what did I do?
I brushed it off. I told her mowing the lawn wasn’t a legal issue. That she should talk to a friend or a therapist. That it wasn’t in my wheelhouse.
I regret that moment to this day.
Because “Who will mow the grass?” is exactly the kind of question we should be asking—and answering—during divorce.
It’s not silly. It’s not small. It’s real.
At Together You Part, I built an entire process that allows space for questions like Judy’s. Because when we talk about creating a Parenting Partnership Agreement or dividing property, it’s not just about schedules and spreadsheets. It’s about addressing the actual stuff that keeps you up at night.
Who’s going to mow the grass?
Who’s going to take the car in for inspections?
Who remembers to send birthday cards to the in-laws?
Who handles the doctor’s appointments, the taxes, the tech support?
These aren’t just chores—they’re the things that make a life. And figuring out how to share them, shift them, or reassign them is part of the work.
So go ahead. Ask the real questions. The ones people think are too small or too strange. Because in the end, those are the questions that actually move you forward.
