The Wedding Rings

Taking off my wedding rings felt monumental.

`I had never heard anyone talk about it. This was a death of sorts, and I knew I couldn’t just shove them in a drawer next to my scarves and fashion jewelry. I needed a ritual of healing, one that would stir up a lot of emotion, yes, but the kind of necessary emotion that moves you forward. The problem? I had no idea what that looked like.

My ring finger sparkled daily, reminding me of the “til death do us part” commitment I had made twenty-six years ago. Those rings became a part of me. I rarely took them off. They represented my union with another human as well as an identity placed on me by others.

I didn’t just wear jewelry, I “wore” the role of wife.

We got married in my parent’s log home by a Methodist minister from our local church. I share this detail because he spoke about the rings being a union between God, my husband, and myself. He spoke of the marriage as a covenant, the rings a symbol of this sacred union.

I had been thinking about this wedding ring issue, when I found myself walking into church and sitting in the back pew. Church and I have a complicated relationship (we’ve broken up a few times), so I was surprised to find myself there.

While I shouldn’t be surprised anymore by the activities of my Higher Power, this day I was gobsmacked. The sermon was, of all things, about wedding rings. I cried my way through the entire service. (Pretty sure the person next to me thought I was having a spiritual awakening or a full-blown meltdown. Maybe both.)

Right then and there, I decided to slip into the small private chapel tucked inside the church. Since this “covenant of marriage” was between my spouse, me, and God, it seemed fitting to take the rings off in the presence of the Spirit.

So I lit a candle, prayed, apologized for my part in breaking the bond, and asked that the strength once tied to my marriage be transferred into a stronger bond with the Divine. I also learned that one travel-sized pack of Kleenex is not up to the task.

As I blew out the candle, it was over. Not the grief, not the whole story, but the ritual of it. And with that act, I felt peace. A peace that said: the rings were no longer my story.

Reflections:

If you find yourself facing a symbolic moment, whether it’s removing a ring, packing up a closet, or even deleting the family Netflix profile, consider giving it meaning. Rituals don’t have to be grand or religious to be powerful. They simply mark the moment, help us honor what was, and open space for what’s next.

What rituals could you create for yourself to honor both the ending and the beginning?