Image: The revenants, by Amy Friend © 2002-2012.
I was a wife, and now I’m not.
The product is so much cleaner than the process. And in the beginning, this is how I thought of divorce. Discrete, an event. So I waited for it to be over.
There were mundane moments of suffering — my thumb would feel for my missing wedding band, I’d overfill the teakettle, or be half-asleep and bewildered to find only a single toothbrush near the sink. Every time, the surprise of it was clarifying, a series of breathtaking realizations. I moved the tissue box from room to room.
Beyond these details there was a progression of endings — moving out, quitting therapy, getting a lawyer, signing papers — all of it mounted toward the final goal. But each milestone passed without much change in my feelings. The finish line I imagined was in motion. Slowly I came to understand that divorce wasn’t so much an event as a death.
The distinction is crucial, for two reasons. First, because we have fewer expectations of when we’ll recover after a death. We understand that feeling normal again is more a function of time than effort. Second, because we have better tools for coping with mourning than with divorce. There’s a protocol of care, we forgive outbursts, moments of insanity. And if we’ve lost someone, perhaps we go easier on ourselves.
I did not go easy on myself. The grief eclipsed me, and embarrassed me. And thinking of it as an event only increased my suffering. When each phase found me still mourning, I worried that I would never be myself again.
Pain and confusion aside, just the paperwork seemed insurmountable. It was easy for me to get caught up in logistics and mistake them for the journey. Once you’ve taken actions A-Z, you are no longer married, and you get your life back.
Except, as with a death, once everything normalizes it doesn’t resemble your life anymore. The plans you’d made, the things you’d thought settled, are blown apart.
Now I’m no longer a wife, but the afterimage of that identity remains. Sometimes my habits still bend to accommodate the preferences of a person who isn’t there. I don’t know how long it will last, only that I don’t need a finite date anymore.
Divorce has changed me, matured me, perhaps more than marriage did. Now I know that our loneliest moments are some of the most universal.
If you’re going through a divorce, try not to worry so much about when everything will end, just know that it will. You’ll get through it, and there’s so much possibility waiting on the other side.
For those of you who have gone through it, when did you start feeling better? Did your thinking about the divorce process change over time? Advice appreciated in comments.
Mighty Girl 
A friend just sent this to me. My husband is divorcing me after 16 years of marriage, 18 together. There’s nobody else, there seems to be no clear reason he can point to, just “he’s done and wants to be happy.” I am devastated. It does help (at times) to know there’s someone out there who is feeling the same as me, but it doesn’t take the pain away. I know I will be ‘okay’ eventually, and like a death have to go through those first milestones without him. But unlike a death, he still lives on and goes about his life ‘being happy.’ A close friend’s husband died a little over a year ago and she said she would rather be in her situation than mine. How about that? Mind blowing to me, but she’s right. For now I can only hope to get through each day without crying (yeah, right) and look to a future I didn’t plan for. Thanks for putting my feelings into words, they do help.
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It took a few years before I really started to feel like myself again. I married the guy I fell in love with when I was 17, and at 32, it was excruciating to let go of someone who’d been an important part of my life for nearly half of it. (And there was a massive amount of deceit that shook me to my core and made me question every belief I had, but that’s a long story.)
But now, 15 years later, I can hardly remember that life, because the one I’ve built since then is so much better. SO much better.
But don’t rush through the grieving. The only way out is through, and you’ll get there. There are times that will be terribly lonely and painful, but for me, I’ve never been so lonely as I was in that failing marriage.
It gets better. I promise.
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Oops – significant typo above. “…not to say I didN’T cry…”
Blargh. Sorry.
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I was 2 days from my divorce being final. 12 years I fought against his mental illness. I could wait no longer for him to get help, because I had young children to protect. I still had all the hope in the world that he would change and get help. Even with the divorce two days away, I had time to hope.
Then he committed suicide.
This is the difference in divorce and death. The two have a similar grieving process, but are not the same.
With divorce, even if painful, there is still interaction. The ability to hope the other changes for their benefit. Your timelines still continue.
With death, everything stops. Period.
Divorce is the loss of a shared dream. Death is the loss of a person.
Please never confuse the two.
“The two have a similar grieving process, but are not the same.” This is the point I was trying to make. I’m sorry for your loss. -M
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I cannot tell you how many times I’ve had my widowhood compared to the painful loss of divorce. I’m at the point right now where I finally avoid responding, because I know better. Divorce, widowhood, parenthood and basic life experience have only one lesson: you have to live through it to know better.
And I have. By the time I was 31, I was both a divorcee and a widow. I married early, dropping out of college because I wanted to be married instead. And for nearly 8 years, I tried the best I could to be a wife and mother. I failed miserably. In all fairness, my ex-husband admits to the same thing: we both failed. We both made dumb choices, and reacted immaturely to the immense commitment of marriage. It was no surprise to anyone how horribly our marriage ended. In retrospect, it’s hard for me to say that I would do it again, if only for the sake of our daughter. I would, but it’s definitely a nasty pill to swallow. I would definitely do a lot differently.
And I got lucky. I actually found someone who was more on par with how I communicate emotionally, and otherwise. By that time, I knew what not to do, and thankfully, so did he. We were happy for a very short time, but we were definitely happy. We had another daughter, and I felt like our lives had years of companionship and love ahead of us, no matter what the circumstance. The distinction between both marriages was so stark, it was only too obvious why the first one didn’t work. Taking my half of the blame made my second marriage a better effort. It was something I had control over. I could choose not to make the same mistakes, or not react in the same incorrect ways, saving myself from ruining what was a perfect second chance. And it was good.
Until, of course, my second husband dropped dead at the age of 27, from a class five brain aneurysm, and everything I thought I had control over ended sharply.
I don’t expect you to understand what it has been like for me, in the years since he died. It was nothing like my divorce, which I thought was pretty painful. I once considered suicide because the man I was STILL married to was actively trying to get his fellow-soldier gf pregnant in order to help her get out of the military and avoid another tour down range. On the outside, I pretended I didn’t care, but it tore me up pretty badly. I never thought I’d ever love someone again, or be able to trust them enough to let them love me. I thought my life was over.
I didn’t realize that the love I felt for my first husband was more based on how he made me feel about myself, as opposed to loving him unconditionally. It was easy to fall apart because of that. What kind of identity did I have, if I wasn’t married to him? Who was I? Regardless, I do know that I did love my first husband, even when we finally finalized the divorce. And it was difficult to say goodbye, even as I was emerging into a new relationship with my late husband. But I did say goodbye. And I can still talk to him, just about any time I need to. It’s important, especially in regards to the raising of our daughter. I still have his input, which I am grateful for. I cannot tell you how hard it has been to explain to my youngest why her only sister still has a daddy around. And having to assure my oldest that she has no reason to feel guilty for it has been just as hard. I don’t expect you to be able to identify with that.
I will say this: I’m not going to invalidate your feelings regarding your divorce. Being rejected by someone you expected to love you unconditionally is painful. I know what that feels like. It’s definitely a game-changer.
But I also know what it feels like to watch that one person you trusted with everything you had fall dead to the floor in front of you. You cannot compare the two. You may want to, because it does hurt, but you cannot. Not until it happens to you. And God, I hope it never does. These are words you never want to have to eat, trust me. There is no comparison. It is NOT the same.
Maria, I’m so sorry for your loss. I agree that it’s not the same, and for the record, would never say to a widow that I understand what she’s going through because I’ve been divorced. That’s not what I’m trying to say here, but I still understand why any comparison would be upsetting. Again, I’m so sorry for what you’re going through. -M
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Two years ago, in the midst of a divorce, my husband died.
Having dealt with both the death of a marriage and the death of a husband: neither is something I’d wish on my worst enemy. But to the comments who feel that they’d rather have death than divorce – I pray you don’t get what you asked for.
Though divorce is awful and long lasting and you will mourn the loss of the life that you had planned, it is NOT the same as mourning both your marriage and the ACTUAL life of a human.
I wish only peace and love to the hearts of anyone trying to build a new normal after the loss of a marriage or spouse.
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I remember in the movie “Under the Tuscan Sun” they call divorce a death and I looked at my recently divorced mom as she nodded in agreement. Beautiful writing, as always, and so kind of you to open your life to share the experience with others. Hang in there.
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Thank you for this post…
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I appreciate your perspective but never having been divorced I cannot relate. I was married 362 days to an amazing man who, undeservedly, died in my arms from metastatic cancer. To compare the two is unconscionable. My love had no choice, but I suspect those who go through divorce made some choices along the way.
I don’t want to disrespect your pain in anyway. I just need you to know that I have been told by divorced friends (two went through divorce as my husband was dying) that it is similar but 27 months later I still beg to differ.
I wish you well on your journey, but do me one favor and never let a widow hear you make this comparison – out of compassion and respect for those of us who know we’ll never have the chance to see/hear/touch our loved one again, even by chance at the mall with their new spouse/kids or across the stadium at a child’s sporting event. We will never have the chance to call them up and bitch at them for whatever they did. We will never have the chance to scream at them for the way their mother treats our kids. There are so many things we can’t do that a divorced person can do if they CHOOSE.
Thank you for your time.
Lori, I’m sorry for your loss. -M
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I was lucky (or she was unlucky) that I had a Divorce Buddy (TM) to pace me through everything as we made the same realizations and wandered through the same stages of grief. I still remember the conversation in which we realized that nothing was ever going to be the same again. We were never going to be the same again.
It wasn’t a depressing realization, exactly. Bittersweet is probably the more appropriate word. Because there are things you don’t miss about your old self or your old life one tiny little bit, of course — hopelessly intertwined with the things you always will.
Divorce is, in that way, exactly like every other irrevocable transformative experience. But somehow we expect not only to heal, but to revert.
As for when I started feeling better … I would have said six months, but I was kidding myself. I don’t think a solid two years is unusual, and maybe, as in the past, I only THINK I’ve moved on, and will later discover some aspect of it that I have yet to let go of. But if you define “feeling better” as “grateful for my life as it is and uninterested in imagining things any other way,” which as you are already keenly aware is nowhere near the same as “good as new,” I think I passed that mark at about a year or so.
I say it every single time someone talks about this, but: I am so glad we are talking about this.
Speaking of which, thanks so much for your posts on this. They were helpful to me:
http://www.thetrephine.com/category/divorce/
-M
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I was married for 7 years, and have been divorced for 4. I agree with the comment above, that the grief and ache come in waves. During one of the worst waves, maybe a year after all was said and done, one of my best friends sat me down and, as she put it “dropped a truth bomb on my pretty little head.”
She said that yes, it was going to hurt for what seemed like a very long time, but later it would seem like the blink of an eye. Time is relative. Moments as you experience them seem infinitely longer than moments as you remember them.
Your first 20 are spent learning to tie your shoes. By the time you’re 30, those first 20 years seem like 20 minutes of playgrounds and first kisses and tree climbing and graduation. Over time, you make peace with the notion that you’re an adult, and find the happiness related to adulthood.
I was married for 7 years. Looking back now, it whooshed past me in a blur of happiness and frustration and heartache, that seemed to last no more than a few months. And just recently, the phase of loneliness and mourning and letting go of dreams seems to be drawing to an end. I signed those papers in 2008 which in my head was just last week. Mercifully, it now seems like I rushed through the awful phase too. I’ve found the happiness and comfort of being smarter, and more fully informed of what I require and what I cannot tolerate in my life.
I’m saying it hurts now. A lot. But there will come a moment when it doesn’t seem like it lasted so long, or hurt so bad.
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No advice. No recriminations either.
Just a gentle (virtual) hand squeeze to you and to anyone here who needs it.
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Hi Maggie – thanks for this post. I laughed at your comment about the toothbrush – my mom, who worked for a dentist, gave me an electronic toothbrush for Christmas the year I got divorced. I sobbed when I saw the 4 spare toothbrush heads as they seemed to represent the husband I no longer had, and the kids we would never have! (plus, kind of sucky gift)
I was married for 6 years, we were together for 10. For me there were a couple of things that made this harder than anything I had ever experienced. For me, it was so much harder than the untimely death of my father, because this marriage was something I chose. With death there is of course intense grief, anger, sadness. But with divorce I experienced all of those things magnified with the disappointment I felt in my ex for letting me down, disappointment in myself for picking him, and the disappointment I felt that I didn’t see the red flags that I dismissed because we were both so in love. We have no control over a loved one dying, but most of us have control over who we marry.
It was also horrific to know that when I stood there and promised to love him for the rest of my life, I really did mean to keep that promise, and yet there I was walking away from the relationship. It is a terrible thing.
I went through about a year of weight loss and self-destructive drinking and being a bit of a ho. I call that my Skeletor phase because I really did look awful and felt 10 times worse than I looked. After that, I got better at forgiving myself for whatever mistakes I made, and just generally cutting everybody some slack including myself. Also, one day I woke up and I wasn’t so angry anymore, and that made a huge difference.
The songs that were in heavy rotation for me were “Fly” by the Dixie Chicks and “A Little Past Little Rock” – it has been 9 years since my divorce and both songs still make me tear up, but in a way that is more bittersweet than sad. Also re-read The Incredible Lightness of Being.
It will get easier.
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Eloquently said! I was only married for 3.5 years and didn’t have children, so I honestly think that made it much easier as I was able to make a clean break from my ex husband and his family. He did however refuse to give me a divorce for 2 years. He even had moved in with another woman and she was pregnant before he finally signed the paperwork. I dated and had relationships after we separated, but they were with men I knew it wouldn’t go anywhere with….10 years younger, 15 years older…an ex boyfriend or 2. As much as I was ready to date, I was not ready for a serious commitment for quite some time. For me, It took about 6 years to feel like I could take a risk like that with love again. I am currently engaged but was a bit weirded out when what would have been my 10 year anniversary passed last month, and for a moment panicked that I would fail again. However, the reality is that I too matured greatly from the process of divorce and have met someone who I want to commit to. It took me a few years to feel like I was deserving to find love again though. My mom and sisters pointed out that for a while it was although I felt I had to serve relationship penitence (regardless of my not being religious) because I felt I failed at something so important to me. Whatever the cause, I eventually felt I could fall in love again. It’s a journey, but one that made me feel emotionally stronger and incredibly more sure of myself as a result. Thank you for bringing it up and writing about it, it’s wonderful to read how much we’re not alone!
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I think I finally was on the road to getting over it when my ex-husband and I stopped trying to work things out AFTER we were already divorced. Seriously.
We split up at the end of 2005, got divorced in 2006, and went back and forth once or twice before finally ending things for good at the beginning of 2007.
Physical distance helped a lot. Even when we were “broken up” we’d still hang out together sometimes, which definitely dragged things out a lot longer. If I could have a divorce do-over, I definitely would go for a clean break.
I think one of the hardest things after you’ve been with someone for so long (10 years in my case) is trying to figure out who YOU are again. I had to actually figure out what I liked to do and where I liked to go. Before there had always been so much walking on eggshells and always thinking about how my ex would react/hate to do certain things, so I usually just avoided them.
Dating sucked afterwards, that’s for sure. I mean, I hadn’t dated since I was 25. Dating at 35-37 is a little different. UGH. Sorry.
My story does have a happy ending so far. After being convinced that I’d never meet anyone that I liked enough to hang out with for a few hours, let fall in love with and marry him, I met my husband in 2007, married him in 2009, and had a son with him in 2010 (at 40) 🙂 So, cool things do happen sometimes.
Oh…something else that I HATED after my ex and I split up. I hated feeling like I NEEDED to meet someone else. I didn’t actively go out and try to do that when I felt this way, but it was just this overwhelming feeling of awfulness that was horrible to experience. I felt like such a loser because I wanted to be and felt like I “should” be independent. Yet, when I was single again, that’s what I was constantly obsessed with. “I’m never going to meet anyone.” “I’m going to be a cat lady.” “I’m going to be a dead cat lady.” I felt like I should have been using that time to do awesome things for myself, but I was just wishing I’d meet someone and fall in love. That really made me feel pathetic.
If I could hug you right now I would. xo
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When they say that laughter is the best medicine, it is really true. Don’t wait for the right moment or a good time. Just set a routine–get up a little early if you have to–but spend at least 15 minutes a day (the more the better but if you have kids, you may only get a few minutes at a time) watching something funny.
If you can’t watch anything, at the VERY least do the laughing Buddha exercise. It takes 1 minute. Here is a sitting version: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KFdRtXAFv-8 Here are some standing ones: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j4WP1MfRoSA&feature=related
I highly recommend watching the laughing baby videos on YouTube daily (unless you want a baby and can’t conceive, then go to Cute Overload and look at bunnies, and I’m sorry for mentioning babies).
Shell out for Netflix and watch every stupid comedy they have.
DO NOT WATCH NORA EPHRON MOVIES. NOT KIDDING.
Watch John Hughes movies and thank god you are not in high school any more.
I have never understood why people think getting divorced means you failed. It means your relationship ended. It’s not a personal failure that you fell out of love or your priorities changed or you grew apart before you noticed.
Marriage is really f’in hard. We’re human. We’re going to make mistakes. Forgive yourself.
Maggie, you’re absolutely right that divorce is like grieving for a death, which is why it’s so important to sleep and eat and make yourself go through the motions. It’s healthy to break down from time to time, but you have to practice holding it together till it starts happening by itself.
My divorce story is boring, so I won’t tell it. I’ll just say that post-divorce, there were periods where we didn’t speak and periods when we talked fairly regularly. It’s 11 years now and we’re Facebook friends. He lives a few blocks from me and I’ve meet his new wife. I’ve seen the way he re-did the condo. And he’s apologized for a lot of stuff. We had a good debriefing, really. We don’t socialize, but we call to tell each other good news. And that’s enough.
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Lots of good insights here and I don’t know if I can add anything brilliant, but I will join the chorus anyway!
I’m on my third marriage, so I know this song far too well. I married far too young and divorced within a year. I felt sad and ashamed, but the relationship was too brief (for me anyway) to feel that much loss. My second relationship cratered 2 years into the marriage, ending 7 years after we started, and to this day it was the darkest two years of my entire life. I felt like I was losing everything, and in a way I was – just like so many people here, what I lost was my entire mental and emotional understanding of who I was and how my life worked. This is absolutely a death, if not a physical death – the loss of identity that comes with the dissolution of a major relationship is a death that is unlike any other.
Not more or worse, obviously – I’m sorry that people misunderstood your comparison there, because it was certainly clear to me. There are all kinds of deaths, we all go through them all the time, and it’s an accurate term. The concept of death isn’t remotely limited to the physical death of a person. For most of us, that is the worst form of death, but not for everyone, so I will join the ranks of those respectfully suggesting that we each own our experience and not try to impose our definitions on other people.
Again, many others have hit on this – the death is of identity and expectations, which cuts deeper than most of us ever expect. Very few people really understand how much their expectations of the future shape them, and the loss of the entire landscape of your life when your expectations explode is terrifying in a way that’s very hard to put into words. You literally don’t know who you are anymore – that’s how our identity as a partner (particularly a spouse) is woven through our being. That thread gets pulled and suddenly we’re just a collection of parts, falling to the ground, nothing connecting to anything else like it used to. Who knew all that was bound together by that thread, that word?
There’s always more there than we think at first, and usually the new entity that arises when the parts grow back together is a better one, but she’s indisputably different, and it’s a process that never truly “finishes”. I agree with everyone else that a separation of this magnitude diminishes over time but may not ever go away entirely – I think it’s a “long tail” type of thing, and that seems to be consistent with all major loss. I’m not sure it’s fair to ever expect anyone to “be over” something in the sense that it never hurts ever again in any way, for the rest of your life.
That being said, others have pointed out the real danger in nursing our wounds, too. I don’t get the impression (from this distant vantage point anyway) that you’re prone to that, but a lot of us do hang on to the hurt a long time past when it’s beneficial.
I think of our emotions as the tides of our oceanic beings, but our culture doesn’t support the “ebbing and flowing” nature of feelings (as someone else commented). We’re supposed to “manage” our emotions and keep them linear and organized, they’re supposed to be good servants to our busy little minds, and they must above all never be inconvenient.
I have never known this to work for anyone.
Letting those surges come up, and then fall back again, in their own time and to their own height, as much as possible seems to be a key element to healing. Clearly there are times we can’t just let our emotions do as they will, but those times are rarer than most of us believe. It’s also important to keep enough of a “watcher mind” to insure that you’re not getting into genuinely dangerous territory – if the ebbs get deeper and deeper, or start to outnumber the flows by an increasing amount, it’s important to change course and get help. If you’re basically functional, though, make as much room in yourself as you can to just let those tides come and go. You don’t need to do anything in response, almost always, and not blocking them, judging them, or trying to escape from them lets the emotions actually move through less destructively.
Beyond that, caring for ourselves in whatever positive ways we can is essential, but that’s so personal it’s hard to advise – each of us finds comfort and fortitude in such different things. The common elements of really understanding the magnitude of the loss and disorientation helps to give us permission to take as long as we need to take, and letting the emotions come up without fighting them, judging them, or needing to react to them is like emotional cleansing. Get feedback to make sure we’re not stuck in the hurt, comfort and tend to ourselves in whatever way works for us, and that’s about all any of us can do, I think.
Well, one more thing – we can share our own stories if we’re able, so that we can share the pain and share the fact that it always does get better. I’ll quote one of my favorite writers, Spider Robinson, who based his life and writing on the belief that “Shared pain is lessened; shared joy increased.” May that always be true for all of us.
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With no experience of marriage or divorce but a fair amount of experience with blinding soul pain and loss, I can only offer you the phrase that simultaneously humbles, comforts and reminds me to treasure all The Good that I’ve got:
This will not last forever.
So much love to you, Maggie and to all of your readers, too.
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Hi. I have done this twice. I have layed on the floor in a fetal position several times thinking life was over. I promise you it is not. You will come out on the other side I promise. You may even see that you are so much happier even if that seems absolutely unbelievable right now. I went to several divorce groups and got to hear others stories and interact with other people at different stages- and to see even a week makes a difference. I found this helpful just to listen. Stay busy. I am unashamed to say I called a crisis line just to talk once. My mark was four months in I noticed I was breathing without as much pain and often didn’t think about it for over an hour and laughing. It will be better this I promise. I can see from the comments many people are sending good thoughts. Don’t loose sight of this. My other suggestion is to talk about it because it helps. And again you are’t alone – Laura
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I have divorced my daughter’s father and I feel that our relationship transformed entirely from something deeply dysfunctional and painful, to something kind of sweet. This transformation is quite shocking, as there were terribly negative, painful moments early in the process and I’d never imagined we’d move past the pain and anger. You will always share your child, and hopefully enjoy him and his growth together. You’ll share the responsibility of rearing your son. Sooo…really your life tied together doesn’t end, it changes. And hopefully, for the better. I admire you, and I have confidence that you will discover the good in this for you, your boy, and your Ex. You are one neat lady. You can look at this with a lens that is all your own. I wish you well, my dear.
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divorce is brutal. i was embarrassed, ashamed, destroyed. i was completely alone in it, as i was the first person, besides my parents, that i knew to get divorced. then i started talking to people & realized there is a whole underground society of divorced people. people that are happy & productive & so glad to not be in that life anymore. i was amazed. still am. most of the coolest people i know have been divorced. i think that’s because we’ve been through the muck. we’ve dealt with the worst sides of ourselves. we know what we want & most importantly what we don’t want. it’s tough. it’s life changing, you’ll never be the same. you won’t even want to be. people always told me i’d be happier, to just wait & see. i didn’t believe it. i thought i’d always be a shell of what we had planned together. but they were right. 4 years later, i never imagined i could be so happy & have this life. when i think back i can’t recognize the person i was, i even feel sorry for her. still 4 years later i still deal with it. when you get an out of the blue email from the ex, seriously i didn’t think he had my email address. then when he’s trying to get me to help him annul our marriage with the catholic church so he can marry the woman he left me for, & i’m not catholic. just brutal. but he simply can’t affect me anymore. you’ll get through this soon. just go day by day, moment by moment. keep moving forward. it’s slow but it’s worth it.
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I was at a layover in the Singapore airport when a silk screen caught my eye. The woman who worked at the shop told me that it symbolized ‘the most beautiful spring comes after the harshest of winters.’ I was on my way home and planning on finally leaving my husband. My body was falling apart, my nerves were shot and I just needed peace at last. I bought the artwork because I knew that I needed a visual reminder.
It turns out, the shop keeper was correct. Those rough days turned to months and eventually our court date happened and it was over. The pain didn’t stop there, but there were some bright spots along the way (I highly recommend a divorce party!). Eventually around 2 years later, I felt human again.
Nine years later, I’m happily remarried with two kiddos. Now I can say that there is nothing I would change about those dark days. It got me where I am today. I grew up. Sure there are still moments when something makes me flash back to the rough stuff, like an unexpected punch in the gut, but I quickly move on. I now know what really matters.
It’s hard. Very, very hard, but I promise you that your beautiful spring awaits.
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Maggie, I’m so sorry to hear that you’re dealing with this. My mom and I have talked a lot about the issue some of these folks have raised about divorce not being like death. I ended a 7-year relationship with my fiance a couple of years before we met, and it took me about 3 1/2 years to really move on. My dad passed on just shy of my parents’ 30th anniversary, and my mom is still sorting through it 12 years later. Whenever I equate what I went through with my ex to her losing her partner, she cries and tells me that the difference is that daddy is never coming back, and that I could still talk to my ex if I wanted to. What I don’t say back to her, though, is that in a way that makes it easier. I lost daddy, too, and I know it was nothing personal. He didn’t choose to leave us, he didn’t make any bridge-burning remarks on his way out the door, and he isn’t vaguely in the periphery of her life dating someone else. When you separate from someone who has been your most constant companion for any number of years, and the separation is by choice… even if it’s mutual, it can hurt so deeply and feel so arbitrary not to talk to him every day and not to have to consider him when making choices.
I understand that as time has passed and my life has moved on, my mom’s loss has been more profound than mine, but I definitely understand what you were trying to get across, and I think it makes sense.
Much love to you,
Leona
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Just re-read my comment (#52) and feel like I should clarify – I was not 17 when I married him… I was 17 when I fell in love! I was 26 when we married, which made me think we knew who we were and what we really wanted in life.
Oopsie! 😉
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Dear Maggie,
Thank you for sharing, reaching out and asking for support. I’m in the club too, and outside of having a lot of extra money to afford some travel, therapy, weekly body work, high-end dermatology and frivolous purchases of cashmere, time, patience and reaching out are the only cures.
My split came at the end of a tumultuous relationship, but it was unexpected and brutal. The divorce itself took over two years. I see that so many of the commenters have listed stats (years married, divorce duration, years divorced, remarriages etc.), but those numbers don’t represent the depth of the pain, confusion, grief, shame, loneliness, apathy and sheer heartbreak of the process.
Because my relationship was actually one that was totally abusive, and I did not figure that out until well after the divorce finalized, I am now grateful being not married to that person. However, you do not have to be in a marriage as tormented as mine to have the eureka moment that your divorce might someday be realized to be a positive part of your life.
When did I start feeling better? When I recognized, in a very honest and quiet moment (because you know how many more you get of those now) that I knew he was not my person, but that to get to here I had to go through him. My perspective on the process has totally changed because of that; in fact, I think people who decide to split – AFTER going through the compulsory therapy and confrontations as mindfully as possible – are braver and better for it.
I know this is not a popular opinion, but it’s the truth. And not my truth, it’s THE truth. If two adults who were once in love and made well-intentioned plans and had kids and made major purchases and had a life together only to realize that something is just not there for them together, then don’t stay in it and when you get out, do it as respectfully and fairly as possible. I don’t know how many people will say that out loud.
Also, one of the comments was about a friend asking “when are you going to get over it” and I have to admit it made my skin crawl a little bit. As long as you are not harming yourself, sadness bordering on morbidity is to be expected as part of the grieving process of a divorce. I had a friend say this to me, and while I do know she was genuinely concerned, I also knew she felt uncomfortable with my shame and sadness. Tough love is not love.
I am sending you tender love and will hold the knowledge for you that you will heal and be stronger on the other side. What good is a scar without a story to share about it.
Much much love,
Justine
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godamn you are brave
a courageous blaze.
I bet you don’t feel brave, just super sad by the sounds of it but from the outside you are doing better than alright.
brave, even.
many many many blessings
on your blessings
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hi maggie. thank you for sharing – i know it is difficult and very sad. my divorce was my choice(which somehow people think makes it easier for me), however, for me it made things worse as i kept second-guessing my decision. once i accepted that i had no choice (and therefore had made the right decision for myself), it became a bit easier. mind you – this acceptance period took nearly a year and to fully “recover” took longer. but it will and does get easier and you will be ok. putting a time limit on this process is difficult because everyone’s experience and recovery is different. just try to be patient and be very good to yourself no matter what!!! i wish you luck and happiness for the future – it will be ok. xx amy
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The Kubler-Ross stages are grief are exactly what I went through:
Denial — “I feel fine.”; “This can’t be happening, not to me.”
Denial is usually only a temporary defense for the individual. This feeling is generally replaced with heightened awareness of possessions and individuals that will be left behind after death. Denial can be conscious or unconscious refusal to accept facts, information, or the reality of the situation. Denial is a defense mechanism and some people can become locked in this stage.
Anger — “Why me? It’s not fair!”; “How can this happen to me?”; ‘”Who is to blame?”
Once in the second stage, the individual recognizes that denial cannot continue. Because of anger, the person is very difficult to care for due to misplaced feelings of rage and envy. Anger can manifest itself in different ways. People can be angry with themselves, or with others, and especially those who are close to them. It is important to remain detached and nonjudgmental when dealing with a person experiencing anger from grief.
Bargaining — “I’ll do anything for a few more years.”; “I will give my life savings if…”
The third stage involves the hope that the individual can somehow postpone or delay death. Usually, the negotiation for an extended life is made with a higher power in exchange for a reformed lifestyle. Psychologically, the individual is saying, “I understand I will die, but if I could just do something to buy more time…” People facing less serious trauma can bargain or seek to negotiate a compromise. For example “Can we still be friends?..” when facing a break-up. Bargaining rarely provides a sustainable solution, especially if it’s a matter of life or death.
Depression — “I’m so sad, why bother with anything?”; “I’m going to die soon so what’s the point?”; “I miss my loved one, why go on?”
During the fourth stage, the dying person begins to understand the certainty of death. Because of this, the individual may become silent, refuse visitors and spend much of the time crying and grieving. This process allows the dying person to disconnect from things of love and affection. It is not recommended to attempt to cheer up an individual who is in this stage. It is an important time for grieving that must be processed. Depression could be referred to as the dress rehearsal for the ‘aftermath’. It is a kind of acceptance with emotional attachment. It’s natural to feel sadness, regret, fear, and uncertainty when going through this stage. Feeling those emotions shows that the person has begun to accept the situation.
Acceptance — “It’s going to be okay.”; “I can’t fight it, I may as well prepare for it.”
In this last stage, individuals begin to come to terms with their mortality, or that of a loved one, or other tragic event. This stage varies according to the person’s situation. People dying can enter this stage a long time before the people they leave behind, who must pass through their own individual stages of dealing with the grief.
Personally the hardest part was the tension between getting to that stage of acceptance and mourning the loss of my dreams, especially for my kids. Which if anyone ever said (kindly, too), “how’s the kids?” made me want to crawl under a rock in shame. How could I do this to them? The pain and guilt is enormous.
If anyone is going through a divorce due to a spouse’s addiction or mental illness please read “Co-Dependent No More” by Melody Beattie. I resisted for so long because even the title seemed cheesy to me – but my god, did it help.
Good luck out there ladies. You are the master of your fate, the captain of your soul. Lets give ourselves a chance to get this right. But let yourself cry to “Your gonna make me lonesome when you go” – Bob Dylan but especially (yes, really) the Miley Cyrus version – I know…but trust me.
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MAggie, you wrote a wonderful piece, but I am so impressed by your commenters. Each and every one has relayed their story in such a caring and responsive manner… You are all good writers.
I have nothing to offer on divorce, but the piece touched me enough to come back today and read the comments, and Wow! You guys are good!
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Technically, I’m not divorced. I was with my partner for 18 years. It got bad about 10 years into it and then came the point that I finally realized I had to get out. With that said, I left with practically nothing. A suitcase filled with the laundry sitting next to it. I had to go at that moment or I would never go.
Initially, I found myself trying to make drastic changes to try to erase as much as I could as quick as I could. What I discovered is that it just takes time. I was told by different people that it takes 1/2 the time you were in the relationship to recover. I didn’t have 9 years to recover. I’m 5 year out of it and still find myself healing over some things. Most importantly, I found myself again and won’t give myself over and that has been the most valuable lesson.
The other thing I had to tell myself was to be kind to myself. I couldn’t beat myself up over what had happened. I had a life, I lived a life and there were good times. I had to move on. I had a network of friends that were there by my side and helped me through it all. I found new love and I know that it is different and good and it isn’t my past.
Take care of yourself. Be kind to yourself.
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Yesterday I was sitting several rows behind my ex brother-in-law. Dear God, he looks like his older brother (my ex) from behind. I have been separated for about five years and divorced for almost three. But the emotional pain of unexpectedly “seeing” my ex was so deep I felt it physically. Exactly like if one of my dead loved ones was sitting in front of me. Just out of reach. 99.9% of the time, I am good. I have moved on. But I have finally admitted to myself that no matter the passage of time, I still find myself having the occasional “ugly cry” over all that does and does not remain.
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I am now three years out from a tsunami divorce. I am just now realizing that healed may never happen. I am still healing, though much better than before. I am learning to find peace in the process and to forgive myself in the moments when the pain still bubbles to the surface. Moving through and from a divorce is a passageway, not a doorway. It will always be a part of you; the hard part is not letting it define you.
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Whew….deep breathes…
I am very sorry that you are going through this Maggie. I love what you wrote and I have been fascinated and enlightened by the responses left here by others that have gone through divorce. Having never been through a divorce, I am particularly noticing the recurrance of the “shame” theme, and, I must say, that comforts me because, while I don’t feel that, I understand it, and understand how that could color almost any response. The idea of Failing at marriage, even if you were the one who chose to leave, must be very hard to deal with. And the urge to create similarities with the grieving that happens with the death of a spouse has to be alluring, a way to help lessen that shame and guilt.
I am a widow. My husband, who I loved dearly, died very suddenly, unexpectedly, and left my son (13 at the time) and myself to live afterwards. I almost didn’t live, but I had my son. I wish with all my heart that we were divorced. That my son still had his father. That I still had him in my life, even if I thought he was a complete bastard. That he was still alive…the things he has missed out on just take my breathe away. Life is amazing and he isn’t in it. It’s unfathomable to me, as has been the pain.
Early on after his death I sat across a table from a woman who was going through a divorce. She looked me in the eye and said that she wished he was dead. that it would be so much easier. I lunged across the table and slapped her right across the face, she fell to the floor and I felt amazing.
I know it was inappropriate, but it was real and it was true, and it was deserved.
That was the first time someone said that to me. I had nowhere to put that comment, no way to deal with it. Subsequently I became involved in a grief group where I could talk about those feelings and laugh at the utter stupidity that comment evokes, but not then.
Other people have said that since that time…they’ye gotten off easier.. I just calmly, firmly and vehemently explained to them that their children still had their father, that their ex was still alive and that a comment equating death with divorce was insanely stupid and that they should be ashamed of themselves. And to NEVER say that to another widow as long as they lived.
I have come a long way with my grief. I have processed it, talked about it in therapy and with other widows. I fell into the hole of drinking too much and emerged from that. I now give back by volunteering in support groups and nodding sagely as newer widows express their disbelief at some of the ridiculous things people say. My son is hard…his pain is palpable still, it kills me, but he is moving ahead with his life and I wish that my husband could see us now.
I wish, every moment of every day, that my husband were here with us, that he were ALIVE.
I believe all the women who wrote here that you do need to grieve this divorce, the loss of your dreams and expectations, and that it will get better.
I am telling you that, even moving ahead with life, which I am doing, the best I have is a new normal. I have found hope again and courage and strength to go on. But death ends a life, not a relationship, and the pain of the death of my husband will NEVER get better. I will NEVER see him again. My son will NEVER have his father.
This is the difference. There is no hope of that ever getting better.
That is not your reality, or the reality of any of the divorced people who have responded to this blog post. I have great sympathy for all of you; I have many friends who have divorced, i understand the awfulness of it, I have held their hands and listened to their stories and loved them fully as they got back on their feet. AS they have done for me, through my big awful.
Do not compare it though, do not. Or at least out-loud in front of a widowed person. On your blog..YES, do it. Because then the few of us who have had another experience can chime in honestly and openly and, hopefully, respectfully, and offer a different view.
I am sorry for the loss of your relationship, for all the loss here. I am glad I read this and am able to comment. All any of us can do is keep moving forward, feeling those feelings when they arise, telling our truths..in this way we are very similar.
Thanks for your post and my chance to respond with my truth.
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A friend forwarded this to me, as I have just made the decision to pursue a split from my child?s father. I?ve given myself X months to get out, as I must be able to do this alone, even though support will probably be provided.
I went into therapy to try to learn to live with the current situation for the sake of my daughter, but as I discover things about myself and this relationship I?ve been in for almost 30 years, I?m keep coming back to the conclusion that maybe ?separate but together? as parents and not spouses is the best way to raise our child.
The commenter that said, ?There?s nobody else, there seems to be no clear reason he can point to, just ?he?s done and wants to be happy.? I am devastated? really hit home with me and I?m deeply saddened that my spouse will be also devastated for the same reason. That said, I can?t imagine a life of being so unhappy always and how that would affect my child in the long-run. Someone else said, better to be happy apart than miserable together. I really hope that is the case.
Maggie, thank you for sharing your deeply personal decision, and to the commenters for their stories and wisdom. I didn?t agree with everyone, but I learned something from all of you.
I look forward to sharing this journey, and truly believe the Universe puts in your path things for a reason. Namaste.
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Thank you for posting this. I wasn’t married – my partner and I were together for six years. After the first year, we exchanged rings and vows and I took that to heart. And because I knew (or thought I knew) the depth of our commitment, it didn’t matter that we couldn’t get married and never had a commitment ceremony with our families.
Now, 9 months after she left, I hate that we never did anything to publicly symbolize that commitment because people don’t understand my loss. It’s different than just breaking up – not that that isn’t hard enough.
I gave myself seven months to move on. I said that by my birthday, I’d be ready to get back out there. But I was thinking of it as an event. I had seven months to adjust my routine, get my feet under me, re-plan my future. Then I’d be all set and ready to dive back in to the dating world and everything would be fine. I’m sure you can guess how well that went.
If I’d read this post six months ago, would it have touched me in the same way? I’m not sure, because it took me a long time to acknowledge that I could view it as a divorce even if it wasn’t, technically, and even if those around me didn’t see it that way. It’s an awkward way to grieve but less so now that I’ve come to accept that how I feel is how I feel and that’s what is important, not the label. Funny it took me so long, since that was how I felt about us not being married.
Anyway, I found great comfort in this and in the stories that your other readers have shared. Be well!
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Hi Maggie.
Thank you for sharing your feelings; for being so honest and for inviting us to share our advice.
It’s certainly true that time helps mightily….as I got through the first year,I felt like I was limping toward an imagined finish line. I felt overwhelmed at times, barely keeping my head above water so that I could care for the 6 year old whose world had also shattered. In that first year, I read Joan Didion’s book, The Year of Magical Thinking, and I found so much to identify with in her discussion of the loss of her spouse.
One of the things that hurt the most about the breakup was the setting aside of all those expectations of a shared life. Without my partner, thoughts of the future were so extraordinarily painful. Then came your Life List idea and with it, permission to think about my future. It was a huge part of how I found the power to move on and find peace and hope, so I owe you a big thanks.
Now, 6 years later, I can say that I am better for the experience. I like myself a whole lot more, I’ve matured and found what I value in life. I made my own Life List to help get there. I (finally!) learned to take it easy on myself. I learned to love again and that feels amazing.
It does get easier, it really does. But you can’t read ahead in the book of your life and so you just have to trust that time will bring peace. In the meantime, count me among those who are holding you in the light. Your Life List gave me a lifeline and I will be forever grateful.
Thank you.
Stacy
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What a wonderful post. Thank you so much.
I was married at 20, separated at 27 and divorced at 28. I’m 30 now.
I feel like I’m over my ex husband, that didn’t take very long for me (as I was the leav-er, he was a right prick in the end so it was a relief) – but honestly I’m still not over the divorce itself.
See, I found that divorce isn’t just about separating from a person (wife/hubby). It’s separation from a life you knew, a house you knew, friends you knew, and dreams you had. THAT for me was so hard to grieve.
I’m still grieving it. I’m still in therapy (3 years on – probably for issues that have arisen as a result of the divorce). I still get terribly anxious. Your whole life changes. It takes years to recover and find your feet again. Well it has for me anyway.
I find it really comforting reading about other peoples experiences, and oddly I find it reassuring when some report it taking 5 or so years to feel right again – as I still don’t feel quite myself, and not quite strong enough to deal with everything life throws me. Each year I get stronger.
Thank you everyone for sharing in the comments too.
Good luck! xx
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I think it’s important to make a distinction between saying, as you did, that divorce is like a death, and saying that divorce is like being widowed. There are many kinds of deaths.
When my marriage ended I grieved many things. I mourned the loss of my children’s perfect childhoods. I mourned the loss of the person I had been. I mourned the loss of the life I’d had. I mourned the loss of the close friendship and connection that I’d shared with my ex-husband. We had been together since I was fifteen years old and I didn’t know how to be a person without him.
I got through it all, though. My period of intense grief was fairly short. It was probably muffled by the fact that I was thrown back into the workforce after 15 years of being a stay-at-home mom, so most of my energy was spent trying to provide for my children. I felt better within a year. After two years I had become an a more complete and independent person and was happier than I’d been in many years.
It’s been almost twelve years now, and my life is better than I ever could have imagined. I have a career that I love, through which I met my fiance. My ex is happily in a relationship with a lovely woman. We all celebrate holidays and birthdays together, just one big happy non-traditional family. Our children are happy and well-adjusted and our grandchildren have extra grandparents to love them.
During those first weeks and months, when I was curled up in a ball sobbing, I could never have imagined that divorce could have a happy ending. But it *does* get better. The pain slowly ebbs away and gradually you’ll have more good days than bad, until they’re all good days.
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Your post brought me so much comfort. Just over a year ago, someone handed me a copy of the book The Verbally Abusive Relationship and I recognized my husband’s behavior in every single one of the 14 types of verbal abuse listed in the book. Our 20th anniversary was yesterday. Instead of dwelling on the future I thought I had 20 years ago, I focused on how much has changed since our 19th anniversary. We’ve been separated since February. The last time he blew up at me, I called the police and he was arrested. Friends, family, and therapists are noting how much happier I am. I’m learning to manage my post traumatic stress disorder. Our 3 children are in counseling getting the help they need. Everything feels terrifying, heartbreaking, and wonderful at the same time. Knowing that things will never be as bad as it was keeps me moving forward.
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I just wanted to thank you and all the commenters for their insights and experiences. It is so comforting to read. I have not experienced divorce or death, but am struggling with different forms of loss. And it amazes me that, though these are all very different and distinct things, there is a very universal emotional undercurrent. O, to be human…
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Hi Maggie, I’m so sorry you’re going through this. I’ve been following you for several years and for some reason I feel like I know you. I wish I could give you a hug through the computer screen and pat your hair. Everything will be ok. Lots of love to you.
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Dear Maggie, thank you for your beautiful and honest post. I went through a divorce when I was even too young to be married, and I know this: I would not have the deeply loving and fulfilling marriage I have now if I didn’t have that divorce first. It takes a while to get over the grief–honestly, I don’t know how long–but, as painfully hard as it is, divorce has many true and lasting gifts to offer. I sincerely hope you find the same to be true for you.
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Hi Maggie.
Here is a snapshot of the last decade of my life, for orientation’s sake. I met my now ex-husband in the summer of 2001. I was 19. We started dating a year later. We got engaged mid-2005 and married in the fall of 2007. We separated in 2009, days before our two year anniversary. I was 27.
During the immediate months after my divorce, I stayed with my (incredibly awesome and understanding) friends. I lived out of Ann Taylor Loft bags. I slept on the floor. I let dogs lick my face (I had never let a dog lick my face before). It was a blur and honestly I do not remember exactly how I felt, although in retrospect I am pretty sure I mostly just felt numb.
When I moved into my own apartment, it was a small first floor studio. 7 years of cohabitation and a mild hoarding problem got squeezed into a space that might be a few square feet larger than Carrie’s closet in the Sex & the City movie. I had a very tiny stove and an even tinier stovetop, but this did not stop me from making some of the most delicious dinners I had ever eaten. I learned to cook for one. Pre-divorce, I ate a lot of ramen. Post-divorce, I made a lot of filet mignon. Speaking of eating well, I also lived a block away from a cheese shop. On the weekends, I would walk over there at 8 am and sample gourmet cheese. This would be my breakfast. By the way, I’m lactose intolerant. WORTH IT.
The apartment had a step separating the living room/bedroom from the kitchen/dining room/bathroom. I called that my Crying Step. Whenever I felt a cry coming on, I would sit on this step and allow myself to cry. I stopped feeling guilty about crying, I didn’t try to hold the tears back, I didn’t think about how I made a mistake or how I wanted to go back to him. I just let myself cry until I stopped naturally. Then I usually went and ate more cheese. Needless to say, I am a stress eater. Specifically, a stress cheese-eater.
In the past three years, he has: started to date an old friend, moved across the country to live with her, and asked her to marry him. In the past three years, I have: met someone new, moved in with him, adopted a dog, felt relaxed.
Sometimes I feel embarrassed that I am divorced. Sometimes I regret responding “break a few hearts” to the high school yearbook question: “What do you want to accomplish in your future?” Sometimes I still need to find a step, any step, to sit and cry on.
But mostly I think my divorce humbled me. I am more conscious of the effects of my actions and my words. I think a lot more about wearing other people’s shoes. I avoid axioms. And I cut myself way more breaks. Like, waaaay more breaks.
Because in the end, I learned that getting divorced isn’t a huge failure. And it wasn’t MY huge failure. It was just something that happened that sucked but also was a little bit inevitable. We were unhappy, we did not see eye to eye, we fought often. We loved each other so hard, which made the divorce so sad, but I knew that if we stayed together on the path we had set out on, we would only be divorced with multiple children and multiple assets that we would then fight over. I loved him but I hated fighting with him. And I just couldn’t bear the thought of getting used to fighting with him in front of our children.
I miss him, I do. We don’t talk anymore, which was the right decision, but I do miss talking to him. We were best friends for so long and during such formative years in my life. I was with him for almost my whole adult life. I imagined the rest of my adult life with him, and now my life is without him. Sometimes I forget what it was like to talk to him, and that breaks my heart. That memories can be that flimsy, that fleeting. Sometimes I am just so glad I can’t remember anymore.
I would say that I am passed the spontaneous tear combustion stage, passed the “feeling a little dead inside” stage, the “float through all this fog” stage. I don’t think I’ll ever “be healed” but I will always “be healing”. I am a different person now and I love who I am. But I allow myself to have sadness about our divorce because it was just that: sad. And to try to justify it away, or give it more or less worth than just that – than just sadness – would be dishonest. It was sad, and it made me sad, and sometimes it still makes me sad. But it is just part of my life now, and I like my life and I like me now. So I wouldn’t trade it away for anything. It is part of who I am.
I don’t know if this was helpful, but I hope something I said helps you through the days ahead.
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I heard some where that it takes 1 year for every 4 years of marriage before you start to feel better after a divorce. I didn’t want it to take that long, but it sure did – 12 years together, 3 years to grieve the end. I think it’s harder for the one who was pushed into the decision instead of the one going off into a new happily-ever-after. I hate the throw-away society we’ve become – from things to people. Always on to the next new thing.
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I don’t have any divorce words of wisdom. I just wanted to say that I’m so glad to see you WRITING personal stuff again. I hope it continues. I hope this doesn’t sound too negative, but I’m frustrated whenever I see your blog pop up in my reader because I knew that it won’t be actual writing – it will be more of the generic, surface stuff that we’ve had since your divorce. I do understand that it must be so difficult to write about anything personal while you go through all the crap (I really do UNDERSTAND why you haven’t written much). But – I hope you are able to move forward in your writing so that we can see your talent again.
Good luck in your journey.
Laura
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I am deliberating divorce after 22 years of rocky marriage. I got married very young and have never lived on my own. I am seeing how I have given my power away. I am blaming my husband because I lied to myself. I compromised with myself. I deceived myself into living a life I do not want. i am disgusted with him when I am truly disgusted with myself. I think I may blame my kids a bit. I know that is a terrible thing to say. I adore them and they adore me. But, I wasn’t the mom that I should’ve been. And it may have been a passive aggressive thing for not wanting to be in a marriage. I have always ‘made’ things better in my marriage. But I just can’t ‘make it better’ anymore. I wonder…I don’t like my life minus the kids who are about to go off to college…it really is my fault. I compromised and deceived myself into this life of mine. So, My husband, seeing that I have emotionally left the marriage is trying to do all those things I had begged of him for 22 years. It is very unattractive to me. I feel guilt. Tons of guilt that he is so unhappy at my emotional absence. But then I think, hey, what about my 22 years of unhappiness and horrible loneliness? But then the guilt hits again and I think, well, maybe, I should stay…and then a little part of me dies. I am overwhelmed with thinking of the statistics that 1 year of ‘rehab’ for every 4 years of marriage. Almost 5 years of adjustment at a minimum. I am afraid that I cannot go through with this divorce. I am afraid that I cannot emotionally sustain myself through this. I am afraid that my kids will lose what mom they do have. I am afraid that I will get this divorce in hopes of getting a full life of beauty ( not materially) and openness and vitality and then falter and realize, I never really did want it. Which may be why I didn’t live it to begin with.
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Hi Maggie. I’ve been divorced for thirteen years, remarried for twelve. I’ll cut to it, although these feelings are complex and difficult to articulate. It gets better and it doesn’t.
Although my ex and I parted amicably – a process beyond surreal – in hindsight fighting and angry closure would’ve made things a lot easier on both of us, I’m sure. There are still days it comes out of nowhere and punches me in the gut, even after all this time. I’ll remember something he said that made us laugh until we were giddy with lack of air and the enjoyment of each other’s company. I’ll see someone on the street who stands the way he did. I’ll smell a scent that reminds me how I loved him, or a time we were together and happy, and I’m right back there again feeling that loss. It’s a mourning that doesn’t diminish but seems to get further and further away with each passing year, like watching someone walk to the horizon.
I agree it’s very close to experiencing a death. It’s the death of the life I planned with him. The person I was when I was with him. All we might have been together. Letting go of that was like giving up an entire lifetime. One that I wanted and meant. That part never gets better. I’m sorry. The price of having those good memories is getting to keep them.
There is consolation of a sort being at peace with the decisions you made, knowing you’re human and did the best you could with what you were given.
And then you go on. One step at a time, one moment at a time, one breath at a time, whatever it takes. You do it in spite of yourself. You take a broken foundation and build it new. It’s almost surprising when you realize it’s happening, against all your blackest ideas of ‘what happens next’. We’re so resilient, even against our own will.
You mend what needs to be mended and in doing so find it stronger. You love again, you love better. You learn. You’re more forgiving, not only of others but also yourself. You revel more in the love you receive now, knowing what it really means, how much it’s worth, and what a fragile, priceless gift it is.
You eventually relax. You find yourself happy again, albeit with a tinge of sadness around the edges every now and then. You wish your former love well, always. You begin to remember them and that time with sad fondness.
It does get better. It never goes completely away but becomes bearable as it melds into you and becomes a part of who you are.
I’m very tired right now. I hope some of that made sense. Anyway, thanks for sharing your experience with us. I wish you peace.
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Goodness, Maggie. I’ve never put it in those terms, but that’s how it feels – I am a child of divorce and I’ve always known that something broke, something that cannot be repaired or fixed. It’s broken and it will never be whole again.
Yes, it died. Thank you for putting it in those words for me. I don’t know when the mourning ends; I am still sorry and it’s been 29 years. But I suppose like any death, the sting fades with time, but never really goes away?
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I think what helped me most was learning that the conditions that led to divorce/breakup were not limited to that one relationship. Rather, there were patterns and expectations involved in that that relationship that, in retrospect, existed in some form in previous relationships. Only when I made the connection did I identify a way to break the cycle, if you will.
Too often we think that break-ups and divorce happen because we picked “the wrong person” or that we “grew apart”. But in reality, we didn’t change so much as we had different expectations that were deeply rooted, but weren’t apparent at first, second or third glance. Identifying and better understanding how to address those expectations really helped me to understand how I could prevent my next relationship from playing out in exactly the same way.
Imago therapy and the classic book “Getting the Love You Want” were really eye-opening and helpful towards better understanding the conditions that led to the divorce/break-up and how to better address those conditions when (and they will) come up in the context of the next relationship.
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Thank you. What a beautiful post. I like how you didn’t compare divorce to the death of a person, but instead, compared the grief processes as being similar. Divorce is a kind of death, not the same as an actual death of a beloved person, but still something with a long grieving process.
I agree that the grieving processes are similar. Not the loss, of course, but the process.
We should give ourselves a break when it comes to processing any kind of grief. I remember after I left my ten year relationship, I would just suddenly cry without warning, almost without any understanding that I was going to be crying at that moment. I let myself do that. My body seemed to need me to do that. I lived in the most comfortable clothing possible and didn’t sleep much. It took me five years to fully process all of it. For some of my friends, it took only a few years. It’s simply what’s right for you.
I think the mantra of “No judgment–Only patience” with oneself needs to be firmly in place in terms of grieving of this kind.
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