You /are/ alone. And other lessons I learned from my Divorce
Divorce is something no one wishes for or imagines. Standing in white that day, looking at your husband at the altar, or watching your wife walk down the aisle, you assume that this is it, for life.
But unfortunately, not everyone is destined for that “happily ever after”. 4 1/2 years to the day in my own marriage, I made a literal run for it, packing a U-haul and fleeing to an undisclosed location.
10 months later, I was able to start breathing again, and look at what I’d been through. Here are the things I wish I’d known, and the mantras I speak to myself over and over again throughout this long season.
1. It’s important to accept that you are alone
This assertion is perhaps the most controversial. It sounds so defeatist, like I am encouraging people to wallow in self-pity. However, nothing could be further from the truth. Accepting this fact has helped me greatly in adjusting my expectations of others, and accepting and being compassionate towards my feelings.
When you are married, there is an expectation that you are not alone. That you have someone — someone to talk to in the middle of the night, someone to talk to about your day, a sounding board, or, simply, someone to call when you need a ride back from the airport.
The day you separate, all of this changes. Whether or not your spouse performed these duties, there is usually still some part of you that felt some sense of security in the idea that you weren’t alone. That is now over.
You are alone, now, “single” in a world of couples. There isn’t anyone whose job it is to be with you, care for you, or help you.
This fact alone can be crushing — but it can also be freeing.
I was going through divorce in the largest time period of public crisis and grief in recent memory — the global pandemic that is COVID-19. Everyone was trying their best to stay afloat, and the thing is, they don’t always have time for me.
Nor is it their job.
I can’t expect my mom or my brother or my friends to drop everything for me at a moment’s notice. I am in this world ‘alone” now. I ask for help, I am grateful for it. Grateful for companionship and time with friends and phone calls, but I don’t expect it. I make plans as if I am going it alone, and I am thankful when things work out otherwise. Accepting this is part of adjusting to your new reality.
2. You don’t owe anyone anything
If ever there is a time for boundaries, it is during separation and divorce.
I have always been an open person, and tend towards over-sharing. I want to be authentic and vulnerable. I’ve read and try to live by all the Brene Brown I can get my hands on.
And Brene Brown is what saved me.
My story is mine. I get to share it with whom I will and whom I choose, when I choose. I do not have to surrender to be an item of gossip or scorn, don’t have to invite criticism or other opinions into a time of confusion or pain.
I have my list of people, whom Brene says should fit on a sticky note, who get to see and hear my story. Their opinions matter. Everyone else must go somewhere else for the next piece of gossip. Which brings me to…
3. It’s okay, and probably advisable, to shrink your circle
I am an extrovert. I’m the life of the party, and enjoy being the center of attention (when I’ve put myself there willingly). I have far reaching acquaintances and friendships.
But after I left my husband, my circle shrank. I was scared and vulnerable (not in the good way), and wanted desperately to only let people in who wouldn’t damage me more. There was a great deal of betrayal as I left my spouse, from several entities I had trusted.
So my circle dwindled to a few close friends.
It is good to feel safe and loved, but also a bit difficult when your circle has shrunk to a handful of people. When they’re all busy, you’re alone. And that’s where point #1 comes in — it’s what keeps the pressure off those friends, and saves your relationship.
In time, you will begin to open up again. Give yourself that time. This is a marathon, not a sprint.
4. There’s no way out but through
Remember how I said, “marathon”? I mean it. Going through divorce is complicated and sometimes traumatic grief. It is cyclical and repetitive. There’s the initial grief, the grief that gets triggered by necessary court appearances, by different stages in the process, and if you are where I am from, in SC, by the mere fact that the freaking thing can’t just be over already (in SC couples must be separated for a year BEFORE filing).
The grief will come in waves. Some lasting days, others weeks, some moments where you simply can’t catch your breath. Nights where anxiety keeps you awake, where panic fills your heart.
Don’t stuff it. Don’t ignore it. Lean into it. Feel it. Cry, scream, rage, write, get psychiatric help if needed (anti-anxiety meds can be a life saver for especially tough bouts), and rest.
In order to heal, to get to the end of this awful, awful, race, you have to feel and compassionately deal with all of your emotions. The blame, the anger, the denial, the shame, the fear — all of it.
Each time it gets a bit easier in some ways. Each spell you make it through is a testament that the next one will have an ending.
By now, I know my cycles of grief. When they are triggered, I can usually plan for a few days of interruption before my life will proceed to its new normal.
But this is only because I didn’t run, didn’t stuff, but deliberately sat down and walked through it.
5. Grief is exhausting
In C.S. Lewis’ book, A Grief Observed, in which he chronicles his loss of his beloved wife, he says that he didn’t expect for grief to feel so much like fear.
That sentiment was incredibly comforting to me. That, and the realization that grief is exhausting. I had no idea how tired these emotions could make me, how much I would need to rest. How much I would need to pad my schedule with time to reflect and fall a part.
It isn’t easy to slow down, but as I said above — it’s better to do the work now, so that it can get behind you. Because grieving isn’t being lazy.
6. Grief is hard and important work
Spending a day crying, or staying in bed, or moping, or just trying to make it through and do the bare minimum can feel crippling and immensely discouraging.
I often longed for my old energy back, to have one day where I could handle the work load I did before, or to feel that I could get out of survivor mode.
But I learned that grief isn’t doing nothing. Grief is work. Grief isn’t lazy. It is hard, important, and courageous work.
When I have to take a step back from work to rest, or cancel plans, or am tempted to despair, I remind myself of this fact. That I am hurt and healing, and that by choosing to embrace this journey, I am choosing courage over fear, and life over death.
7. Gratitude is your greatest tool for healing
Grief can become solipsistic and myopic — continually turning you into yourself and making you focus on your own downward spiral.
It is important to look out at the world and to see all of its beauty.
Gratitude can be hard when things are falling a part. But it is a good thing to practice. Sometimes it may feel odd, or elementary. Sometimes its just plain difficult.
What has helped me most in this journey, even on the darkest of days, is beauty.
I often wondered why flowers were such a prevalent gift for the bereaved. Now I know.
Being surrounded by beauty in the midst of pain provides healing and hope.
I am blessed to live on a gorgeous piece of land. My friends call it my haven of rest in the storm. And it has been. I’ve cultivated a garden, gotten indoor plants, and even pet birds. I find myself almost obsessively drawn to beauty and things to nurture.
It helps me to remember that dawn follows night, that beauty and good will prevail — I just have to keep holding on.
8. Court Proceedings are nothing like you’ve heard about or seen in movies — and no one will understand that.
Everyone hears about “x being used against someone” or “y taking everything” and all that nonsense. And yeah, maybe in a huge, high profile, divorce that could be true. But the reality is, in most states, it’s a straight up equitable settlement. 50/50, or something the judge deems fair.
Whether you two come up with that on your own, through mediation, or through trial, it will all work out to about the same thing. All that changes is how much you pay in legal fees.
Court orders feel almost meaningless when a contempt trial will cost you $2,000 and take months to get on the books.
So keep your expectations low, try to get your family to stop thinking you are magically going to “win” something, and just try to get through it as quickly and painlessly as possible. And may you have a spouse who isn’t as intent on your public shaming and destruction as mine.
9. You’ll find yourself helping everyone else through your divorce
As much as we want to think marriage is between two people, it’s not. There are families involved, mutual friends, nieces and nephews, parents with aspirations to be grandparents, or, of course, children.
I’ll never forget when Lori, a divorce coach, sat in my office and said that she “had to help everyone through her divorce.” It rang so true with my experience.
My mom’s guilt at not seeing things sooner, my dad’s saying that I, “ruined his plans for the next 10 years of his life,” my brother dealing with the stress it caused our entire family. My friends who get to see me cry more than ever, and my sweet nieces and nephews that I so wish I could say goodbye to.
I might be hurting the most. But I’m not the only one hurting. For some reason, people want to lean on the divorcee for support. I don’t know why, I don’t get it, and I don’t like it, but it’s best to be prepared for it.
10. You are stronger than you would have ever dared to believe
You are here. You are reading this article. You are alive today and breathing. You are pushing through. You have survived 100% of your worst days.
You have faced the unimaginable. You have had your heart ripped in two, your expectations crushed, you may have been betrayed, lied to, or abused.
But you are here. You are running this race. It will end. You are rebuilding your life on your terms, in your own way, and while it may not be perfect or what you expected it to be, it can still be beautiful and good.
So grieve boldly, my friends. I believe in you, and I see you.
