Lose Yourself in a Book (Or an Afghan)
I think the one thing that kept my mom sane during the years after she and my dad split were the 75 afghans she knitted for my sisters, for me, and for anyone who got married between 1982 and 1985. The mundane, repetitive gesture of knitting, she told me later, kept her brain on the loop that she was making with her big plastic needles, and away from all the sadness in her heart. Swimming is the same type of activity for me. I count each lap, so if I start to ruminate too much, I lose track. A friend of mine who divorced last year said that losing herself in a juicy novel was a helpful diversion.