I’ve sat across from hundreds of people in my office who were more terrified of the courtroom wood paneling than they were of being single again. It’s a common fear. Most folks think a divorce means a scene straight out of a Hollywood legal thriller. They imagine a judge banging a gavel while secrets are shouted for the public to hear. Honestly, it’s rarely like that.
Not always required. Most people assume a divorce involves a dramatic showdown in front of a stern judge. In reality, the vast majority of cases are settled in quiet offices with very little fanfare. It’s better that way. Phew.
If you both agree…
Uncontested cases are the gold standard for staying out of the light. When two people decide they’re done and agree on how to split the pots and pans, the court rarely needs to see their faces. Every one of my clients have felt a sense of relief when they realize this. (Pardon my grammar there, it’s been a long day of depositions). You just file the paperwork. The judge reviews the settlement agreement to ensure it isn’t completely lopsided. Then, they sign the decree.
The process is administrative. You deal with clerks, filing fees, and waiting periods rather than cross-examinations. You’ll need to figure out the kids, the house and the retirement accounts. Note: Check the local filing fees before you go. If the paperwork is perfect, some jurisdictions don’t even require a “prove-up” hearing. You just wait for the mail.
When the judge gets involved…
Contested matters are a different animal entirely. If you can’t agree on who gets the dog or how much child support is fair, a judge has to decide. This is the “court” people fear. It’s expensive. It’s slow. Also, it’s public. Unless your spouse—well, let’s not get into the crazy stories yet—decides to be reasonable, you might find yourself sitting at a mahogany table.
Trials are the last resort. We try to avoid them at all costs because they take the power out of your hands. A stranger in a black robe who doesn’t know your kids’ names ends up making life-altering decisions. That’s a heavy price to pay for being stubborn. Decisions are final.
Mediation as a middle ground…
The whole nine yards. Usually, we suggest mediation before anyone even thinks about a trial date. It’s a private meeting where a neutral third party helps you hash out the details. It’s much cheaper. It’s also way less formal than a courtroom setting.
You sit in a conference room. (Actually, I think the coffee in this building is getting worse every year). You talk through the sticking points like adults. If you reach a deal, you sign a binding document that eventually becomes your court order. No judge required for the negotiation phase. Just you, your ex, the mediator and your lawyers.
Those pesky paperwork requirements…
Red tape is everywhere. Even in an amicable split, you have to follow the rules of “past history” and procedural “advance warning ahead of time.” See? Even lawyers get redundant when talking about bureaucracy. You have to file a petition. You have to serve the other person. You have to disclose every single asset you own.
Missing one form can reset the clock. It’s frustrating. But it doesn’t mean you’re going to court; it just means you’re going back to the post office. ~~The law is absolute~~ The law is mostly about following specific instructions in a specific order.
What if it’s messy…
Safety changes the rules. If there is domestic violence or a need for an emergency restraining order, you will likely have to see a judge. This is for your protection. The court needs to hear testimony to justify taking away someone’s rights or property on short notice. It’s a heavy lift.
In these moments, the courtroom is actually a sanctuary. It’s a place where the law steps in to create boundaries that weren’t there before. You’ll be glad it exists then. It’s necessary.
Finalizing the whole thing…
The “prove-up” hearing. In some states, at least one person has to show up for five minutes. You stand at a podium. You answer “yes” or “no” to about ten questions. The judge asks if the marriage is irretrievably broken. You say yes. They sign the paper. You leave.
That’s it. No drama. No yelling. Just a very formal conclusion to a very personal chapter. Most of my clients are surprised by how quickly it ends. They expect a grand finale. They get a signature.