3 Lies Your Brain Tells You After a Breakup
After Divorce: What Are You Grieving?
Divorce is a type of death. The end of the life you had and the life you expected. And as with any death, grief follows closely behind. After divorce, which of these are you grieving?
Grieving the Person You Thought They Were
For some of us, divorce is preceded by a revelation that our partner was not the person we thought they were. In a moment, we realize that we have been in love with a mirage, a projection of our hopes and that behind this image was a person who perhaps was acting in very unloving ways.
It’s a particularly painful loss. Although the person is still breathing, the one you thought you were married to no longer exists. And maybe they never did.
Part of what makes this grief so complicated is that it’s often punctuated with moments of hope. Hope that maybe they will return to the person they were or become the person you believed them to be.
Grieving the Future You Imagined and Planned For
You believed you were going to grow old together. Go on that much-anticipated vacation, experience those milestones and enjoy a shared future. And now all of those planned-for, talked-about and dreamed-of events will not happen. At least not together.
And letting go of expectations is hard. Damned hard. Especially when you’ve made decisions and even sacrifices for that imagined future. It leaves a sense of unfairness and incompleteness, a story only partly told.
Grieving the Family and Life You Wanted For Your Children
Maybe you grew up with divorced parents and you promised yourself that you would provide a different experience for your own children. Or maybe you had close parents and wanted to provide the same for your offspring. Either way, few people would choose to give their kids the experience of growing up with divorced parents.
And so you grieve for them. Mourning the life you wanted them to have while worrying that this is going to cause them harm.
If this resonates with you, take a moment to learn about what kids can learn from divorce. There are silver linings here, I promise.
Grieving Who You Were Before the Relationship
Maybe you lost yourself during the relationship and you’re grieving who you were before. Or perhaps betrayal or abuse has fundamentally changed you and you’re forced to say goodbye to the person you were before that pain branded you.
Of course, we change and grow throughout life as we’re impacted by both people and experiences. Yet divorce, with its very distinct before and after, can highlight these changes in a profound and often painful way.
Grieving The Companionship and Shared History
You’ve been through so much together. Have so many shared experiences and inside jokes. And now it’s over. The house is empty. There’s no one to call when your shared show has a surprise moment. And you feel so alone.
Even if the marriage had soured and you no longer enjoyed time together, you may find that you still miss them simply being there.
Grieving the Lifestyle That Accompanied Your Marriage
Maybe you miss the evenings with the shared friends. Or going to the kids’ softball games as a family. Or the financial freedom that duel incomes and a joint household provided.
When the marriage ended, so did many of the day-to-day traditions, habits and events. And especially before you’ve established your new life, you’re going to feel that void left by their loss.
Grief after divorce is normal. Like with any grief, it does no good to try to rush through it or avoid it. The only way through is through. Acknowledge the losses. Mourn them. Honor them. Give them space. And then give yourself permission to let them go.
Moments of Vulnerability After Divorce
There are things about divorce that nobody tells you ahead of time.
This is one of them.
Before my tsunami divorce, I felt like a capable adult.
After?
There were moments where I felt like a complete badass.
And moments where I felt like a weak and vulnerable child.
Those feelings of vulnerability have a tendency to pop up at the most unexpected times.
When Somebody Shows You Kindness
I felt a strange mixture of relief and vulnerability when I first talked to the officer that arrested my then-husband. Relief because I had somebody who knew what they were doing to take control for a bit. And vulnerability because his kindness revealed both how in need I was and helped prevent me from an “everybody sucks and I’m going to become a hermit” mentality.
For months, every act of kindness extended my way was met with tears. Of gratitude and also from a feeling of powerlessness. Because apparently I wasn’t as good as hiding my vulnerability and pain as I liked to think I was.
During an Uncontrolled Reaction to Something Small
Every time my phone would buzz, I would jump. I feared more bad news from the attorneys or police. I dreaded yet another fruitless and scary conversation with a creditor. And I secretly hoped it was my still-husband, full of apologies and regrets.
I hated the power that damn phone had over me. I wanted to be in control of my feelings and it was such a humbling admission that this little brick of metal and plastic had more sway with my emotions than I did.
When You’re Sick or Injured
It was just a run-of-the-mill stomach bug. But on top of feeling miserable, I felt completely helpless. Not only was my body useless, my mind was as well. And this time, I didn’t have my husband to lean on and act as my protector while I healed. More than ever before, I related to animals that hide in their burrows whenever they’re sick or injured. It’s simply too scary to face the world when you’re less than a hundred percent.
When You Need Help With a Task
It’s funny in hindsight. I was shoving things in my car to take them from my marital home turned mausoleum to the friend’s house where I would be staying. At one point, I needed three hands to both carry things, open a door and shoo away a pernicious yellow jacket.
Only there were no hands nearby to help.
I set down the things I was carrying with the intention of swatting at the insect and opening the door. Instead, I ended up sitting on my driveway (only it wasn’t really mine anymore) sobbing for the next several minutes. In that moment, everything seemed impossible.
When You Realize You’re Alone
It was just a stupid form.
Yet it was so much more.
“Emergency contact” stared back at me with accusing eyes, as though taunting me that I didn’t have anyone to put in the blank.
I could put in one of my parents, yet they both lived across the country, so that seemed somewhat silly. I could pencil in the friend I lived with, but she was completely overwhelmed with being the emergency contact for her new baby. I sifted through other friends, yet I kept picturing them confused when they received a call as my emergency contact. “Why did she pick me?” they would think.
And so I left it blank.
Realizing that ultimately, I had to take care of myself.
When You Meet Someone New
I was supposed to be happy.
And I was.
But I was also scared sh*tless.
Because if I developed feelings for this guy, it meant I would have to open up.
And if I opened up, I risked being hurt all over again.
But if I stayed curled up in my protective burrow, I knew I would never live again.
A Tale of Two Marriages
Today is our 6th wedding anniversary.
That number has some meat to it. It feels substantial. Like we’re past the appetizer and into the main meal.
For some reason, I’ve been particularly reflective this year, looking at this marriage and my first one from the perspective of today.
I don’t remember my 6th anniversary in my first marriage. But that’s not surprising. Not only did we not make a big deal out anniversaries, but both time and trauma have significantly dulled my memories of much of the sixteen years I was with him.
Even without specific memories or knowledge, I suspect that he started living a double life in earnest around our 6th anniversary. It was around that time that he was laid off from his latest job and he decided to go solo. And as I learned later, the company that he started never was profitable. Of course, he worked hard to hide that from me at the time and shared extensive details about projects that he was working on. Projects that I don’t think ever existed.
I can’t help but contrast that with my now-husband. He’s had a couple down years at work due to certain accounts. And I’ve known about it every step of the way. He’s been frustrated about the cuts, but instead of hiding the finances, he’s strategized and worked harder. All while being open with me about what has been happening.
From my perspective at the time, my first marriage was good. If I was to graph its happiness and our connection over time, it would be a horizontal line with only the most minor of deviations. The marriage was steady and we were consistent.
My marriage now is different. When I look back over our 9+ years together, it’s been a positive trajectory. We’re closer now than we were when we married. There’s more intimacy. Better teamwork and communication. More awareness of our own triggers and baggage, which we’ve both made major strides on addressing.
There’s been some hard times, but ultimately, we have both grown as individuals (with the support and encouragement of the other) and the marriage has grown as well.
In my first marriage, we never talked about the marriage. It just was. Something as certain and inevitable as the sunrise.
In contrast, my now-husband and I talk about our marriage quite a bit. What’s working. What’s not. What we appreciate and what we observe. It’s not something we take for granted; it’s something that we make an effort to nurture and grow every single day.
I used to worry that I would never have love like my first husband again. What I couldn’t have imagined was that I would find better. Realer. This love is more challenging and also so much more rewarding. And I would trade this for anything.
Dealing With the Shame and Embarrassment of Being Cheated On
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 