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After Divorce, What Do You Do With the Rings?
Taking off my engagement and wedding rings wasn’t easy. Here’s why the moment hits so hard — and a guide to what you can do with yours afterward
Monica Garwood
Welcome to Ethels Tell All, where the writers behind The Ethel newsletter share their personal stories related to the joys and challenges of aging. Come back Wednesday each week for the latest piece, exclusively on AARP Members Edition.
“Take those darn rings off, or I’ll yank them off for you.”
My friend’s comment came months after my then-husband said he wanted a divorce. Children had been informed, furniture divided. Lawyers were lawyering.
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I knew, of course, that my marriage was over, and keeping my rings on wouldn’t change that. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to take them off. We put so much public celebration into the giving of an engagement ring, the exchange of wedding bands. But for the removal of those rings, we’re on our own.
My friend convinced me to take them off. But what in the world would I do with them?
The wedding ring was a simple, slim gold band. Its history began on my wedding day. Once it was finally off my hand, I hid it in the back of my jewelry box. For the moment, I didn’t feel compelled to do more than that.
The engagement ring, however, was a different story. The white-gold, Tiffany-style setting held a century-old diamond that had been handed down through my ex’s family. Its complex history was an emotional burden to me.
I was somewhat comfortable letting the gold band tarnish, but I obsessed over what to do with the engagement ring. My decision took years, but I’m satisfied with where I landed. Here are the options I considered and how I found my solution.
Don’t do anything. Initially, I tucked both rings in a box in my closet. The act of removing them had been so wrenching and so lengthy that I didn’t want to think about them anymore. At some point in the following months, though, I realized that the rings’ ultimate disposition was completely up to me. Not a single person asked where they were or what I’d done with them. I could simply leave them in my closet.
I didn’t like that option, though. They were a constant reminder of what I had and lost.
Did I want them with me for the rest of my life? No.
Give them back. Although the rings were mine, I received both as gifts. I could hand them back to my ex. The heirloom engagement ring felt like something that maybe belonged in his family? Returning them felt almost noble, an “I’ve no further use for these (or you)” kind of moment.
But I suspected he might marry again. I pictured him down on one knee, making promises to yet another woman, slipping the ring I’d worn for more than two decades onto her finger. Maybe I’d come across images of her showing off the stone on social media.
Forget it. I wouldn’t give the rings back. (Not that he’d asked.)
Sell them. Selling the rings held some appeal. I didn’t know how much I could get for them, but I did know I’d like the money. I could use the proceeds for something frivolous, or put it toward my mortgage, or give it to charity. Thinking through the positive possibilities was enough to bring me to a jeweler.
The engagement ring’s appraisal, however, came in at a tenth of its insurance value. The stone’s old-fashioned pillow cut was out of vogue. The jeweler said he’d have to shave the diamond into a more contemporary shape.
The emotional part of me couldn’t bear the idea of altering, destroying, the stone I knew so well. The practical part didn’t think the transaction was enough of a win.
Repurpose them. When I told the jeweler I wouldn’t sell, he surprised me: He was relieved I didn’t take his offer. He didn’t like the idea of altering the vintage stone any more than I did. He suggested something I hadn’t considered: I could melt down the metals, keep the diamond and create a new piece of jewelry for myself. I could make it into a pendant. Another ring. Earrings. Whatever.
I toyed with this idea for a while, then rejected it. The rings that once represented hope now held broken dreams. I didn’t want them on my body, even in a different shape. I’d know their foundations.
Give the rings to someone else. Years passed, and while it was no longer a front-burner issue, I was aware that the ring decision remained unmade. The passage of time helped me find an answer, at least for the engagement ring. My son was in a serious relationship, likely headed to the altar. I told him he could have the ring if he wanted to give it to his girlfriend. Recognizing my intent, he accepted the gift as a gesture of my love for them both.
Now the stone remains uncut and in our (extended) family.
When I see the ring on her hand, I don’t think, “That was mine.” Instead, I see in her the joy it once brought me.
Some women are delighted to yank off their rings, happy to sell them to the highest bidder. The factors I considered were unique to me, and any of the options I rejected could work well for someone else. The one thing I don’t regret in this process is honoring my truth: The rings’ symbolism lingered well past the end of my marriage.
As for the wedding band? I hear the price of gold is up. Might be time to sell.
AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.
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