After Divorce: What Are You Grieving?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

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.

 

The Life You Had is Gone

Posted on by stilllearning2b
life gone divorce

“The life you had is gone.”

I would tell myself as a lament and in an attempt to force acceptance.

“You now have the opportunity to create a new life.”

I would continue, in a hope that optimism also operated on the “fake it until you make it” principle.

“You can now build a life you want. A better life.”

I was desperately trying to see the good in the devastation that had become my existence.

“But I don’t want a new life! I want my old life. With my husband. I want our imagined and planned-for future. I want what I had!”

The pain of loss and the fear of starting over challenged my resolution to move forward with the energy of an obstinate child.

I didn’t want anything new. Anything else. Anything different.

I wanted what I had. Or at least, what I thought I had.

When I tried to picture a new life, a life without him, my brain responded with the muscle memory of a comic artist who has drawn only a single character. All I could picture was him. I would see myself older and he, changed as well by the years, would be by my side. Like watching a silent movie, I envisioned the life experiences we would daydream about on long car rides or late nights on the deck. I saw things changing around me – new jobs, new homes, new friends. But always, he was the constant.

Even as I reminded myself that it was gone, I resisted letting go. I wanted what was known. Comfortable. I railed against the unfairness of it. The theft of my dreams among the obliteration of his promises.

“But it’s gone,” I reminded myself throughout these visions. “You’re wasting your energy. Throwing good money after bad.” I became my own drill sergeant. “Move on! Drop it! Let it go!”

“But if I let it go, I have nothing,” I whispered back at myself.

I tried to force a new identity on the man in my life vision, but it was like trying to fit a child’s mask on a grown man – it couldn’t block it all. I tried to blur his face in my mind, to smudge him enough that he could be anyone. If my inner voice and I had been female characters in a movie, we would have surely failed the Bechdel Test because all we talked about was a man.

“It’s gone. It’s gone. It’s gone,” became the words that punctuated my footfalls as I ran countless miles in an attempt to purge him from my body. At night, I filled the pages of my journal with both memories and pleas.

I held no love for the man I battled in court. He was a stranger. A monster. I wept for the man that I thought I wed. I cried for the loss of an illusion. But damn, it sure felt real.

But illusions rarely stand the test of time. Like most apparitions, it began to lose it opacity with time. I started to accept the delusions inherent in the former life I pined for. The old existence with its new blemishes no longer held the familiar appeal.

“I can’t build anything new until I release the old,” I was mouthing as I woke up from a dream. A dream where I was alone. Alone and happy.

“The life you had is gone.”

I reminded myself again. Only this time the words had lost their dreadful weight and were infused with a sense of curiosity.

“The life you had is gone.”

“And I wonder what will come next.”

Live the Life You Have, Not the Life You Lost

Posted on by stilllearning2b
live the life

Live the life you have, not the life you lost.

I recently re-watched the movie Stand By Me for the first time in many years. As with every exposure to one of Stephen King’s masterpieces, I was again struck by the particular insight the author has into the expanding and mysterious world of a child. As with all of my previous encounters with the story (either in book or movie form), I was drawn to the character of Gordie. He is the quieter, more introspective one of the group. He observes. He analyzes. He is both in the moment and aware of the bigger picture.

And he is also invisible.

We learn that his older brother, one of those “shining” boys that attracts the adoration of all, was killed the previous year in a car accident. The grocer doesn’t see Gordie, he only sees the brother of the one who was taken too soon. Even his parents barely acknowledge their surviving child, protecting the older brother’s shrine of a room over the needs of Gordie. We see them going through the motions of life without purpose. Nurturing the one who is gone while neglecting the one who is left.

They are living the life they lost, not the life they have.

It’s easy to do. When the loss is acute, it demands attention. It insists that it be the primary focus of every day and every breath. And in healthy grieving, the loss never fades completely, yet it no longer occupies the front seat, displacing everything else.

But sometimes grief becomes stuck. And the loss remains the number one, relegating the ones who remain to a place of invisibility and inattention.

Nurturing what was instead of what is.

It’s hard to change the future. But it’s even harder to change the past.

Live the life you have, not the life you lost.