The 8 Loneliest Moments After Divorce (And How to Lessen Their Sting)

Posted on by stilllearning2b
loneliest

There is no escaping the feeling of loneliness after divorce. After all, a shared life has been cleaved into two separate paths. The sense of isolation is a quiet companion for much of the time, although some circumstances cause it to wake up wailing. Here’s when you can expect the loneliness to be at its worst and what you can do to lessen its sting.

The Emergency Contact

After the discovery of my then husband’s affairs, I scheduled a doctor’s appointment to ensure that there weren’t any lasting physical effects. I dutifully began to fill out the paperwork to update my information when I stopped short at the line asking for an emergency contact. For years, he had been the default name on that line. Now, who should I designate? Any family was thousands of miles away and it seemed strange to list a friend. I felt orphaned.

To lessen its sting… I texted a friend, asking if she was okay being my default emergency contact for the foreseeable future. Her response was heartfelt and immediate. I no longer felt quite so abandoned. It’s easy for us to make assumptions about how isolated we are when there are people around us ready to step up. Ask. You may be surprised.

The Nights

And especially that empty bed. That first night, I alternated sitting on the couch and walking the darkened neighborhood streets. I couldn’t even look at the marital bed, much less sleep in it. That rectangular prism of wood and cloth represented so many memories. Merely the thought of it made me ache for the warmth of his body next to mine.

To lessen its sting… Change it. Claim it. If you are staying in the same home with the same bed, purchase new linens. Move the furniture. Switch to a new brand of laundry detergent that doesn’t smell like memories. If you’re relocating to a new space, make a conscious decision to not replicate what you had. And regardless of your situation, fill the void with a furry companion or a particularly snuggle-able pillow. As for the nights themselves, make sure both your Netflix and your library accounts are current.

The Sharable Moment

It was just sign, erected outside of a new construction site. But to me, it was part of an ongoing conversation. My then-husband and I had wondered and debated about the nature of the new building. And when, days after he left, the mystery was revealed, I found that I had composed the text to him and was ready to press “send” before I realized what I was doing.

To lessen its sting… First, eliminate the element of muscle memory. Move the contact info to a different area of your phone so that you don’t connect on autopilot. Then, decide if this can be shared with someone else or even on social media. Sometimes we feel better just releasing the idea or observation out into the world. If it’s best kept quiet, try writing it down. I kept a small notebook just for this purpose. Also, find comfort in the fact that this impulse will fade with time.

The Shared History

When the first dog we got together died, I grieved not only for her but for the fact that I couldn’t share memories of her life with my then-husband. When he left, I was left with years of shared memories with no match, like a puzzle with missing pieces. I tried to share with others, but I soon learned that this was one of those times when “you had to be there.”

To lessen its sting… When there is an ending to a shared beginning (anything from a death to a promotion to a child graduating high school), make a concerted effort to mark it with some sort of ceremony, either public or private. When you feel the ache of unrequited shared memories, shift your focus to building new memories, new shared histories with other people. If a particular place or date holds painful memories of a lost history, try memory layering – intentionally building new experiences over the old. And here’s how long it takes to create a new shared history.And here’s how long it takes to create a new shared history.

 

Continue to read the rest.

 

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I Wonder

Posted on by stilllearning2b
wonder

My ex had a birthday recently. His 39th.

I wonder if he’s still alive. At the end of it all, he seemed to be on a collision course with an early death.

I wonder if any wrinkles or grey hairs have started to appear. I used to look forward to growing old with him.

I wonder if he still lives in the area. I hope not. In fact, I would like it if he took a job at the research station in Greenland. Or maybe started growing potatoes on the moon.

I wonder if he’s lonely. Or scared. Or still addicted.

I wonder what he thinks about our past. His actions. My reactions.

I wonder if he’s living an honest life now. Or if he’s still playing hide and go seek. Only without the seeking.

I wonder if he’s happy. I hope he is. I had years of wishing him ill. I’m past that now.

It’s such a strange feeling having somebody go from being your every-thing and your constant to suddenly being a no-thing and a gaping absence. I don’t love him. I don’t hate him. I don’t even miss him. But after so many years, it’s hard not to wonder about him.

And I wonder if he ever wonders about me too.

 

And here’s what I really, really, really wish I could tell him.

 

For the entire story, see Lessons From the End of a Marriage.

 

Lonely in Love? How Long to Create a Shared History?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

How long does it take to create a shared history?

I think I finally have an answer.

In many ways, losing the shared history that I had with my first husband was even harder than losing my first husband. Because a shared history is something distinctive. The best and most memorable moments coexisting in both people, creating an intimacy unique to the couple. Time has eroded all of the rough edges of the reality, leaving only the pearls.

A year after he left, I no longer missed him at all.

But I desperately missed the existence of a shared history.

And that’s a terribly isolating feeling.

—–

Even as I was falling in love with my now-husband, I was lonely. I wasn’t sure why at first. We spent a great deal of quality time together, he was attentive and we were having a great time getting to know each other and taking the baby steps towards a shared life.

So why did I sometimes look at him and feel as though he was miles away?

It’s because he didn’t speak the language of my former shared history. I would have the overwhelming urge to bring up an old inside joke or remember a former shared experience. And even though I was falling for this man, this was a particular language he would never know.

In good relationships, the shared history is near the surface. Stories told and retold. Memories remembered. It’s a way to snug the laces holding two people together by recalling the happy times, the times of overcoming and the times you’re glad are over.

And that urge to share doesn’t end as soon as the relationship does. Leaving you feeling as though you’ve abruptly dropped in a foreign country and nobody else understands your native tongue.

—–

As time when on, I slowly forgot some of my earlier language. The urge to speak it lessened as my old shared history became less important and less in the forefront.

There was space to create a new shared history – one with my new partner. I was ready. But the creation of a shared history cannot be rushed.

So how long does it take to fully form a shared history?

The kind that has fully developed rituals to reflect back on and look forward to?

The kind that can provide an abundance of happy moments to recall?

The kind that has shared words and shared jokes that prompt a feeling of intimacy and love?

The kind that possesses narratives of the partners overcoming adversity together?

How long?

Right around five years.

Now, obviously a shared history is not operated by a switch – now you don’t have it, now you do. It grows over time, like a savings account with consistent deposits. But just like like savings account, there comes a moment when you step back and realize that all of those small additions have built up to something significant.

Five years is enough time for holiday rituals to become established. Five years is long enough to have a wealth of good memories to pull from and enough adversity to recall the overcoming of it. It’s a span where change is evident – in bodies, in homes, in goals – and reminiscing about the earlier versions can occur. After five years, you have amassed enough photographs and cards and texts to tell the story of your relationship. Now just how it began, but how it evolved.

Five years may feel like a long time. But it’s much shorter than never.

—–

If you’re feeling lonely and isolated after the loss of a shared history, try the following-

-Reconnect with people from your past. It will refresh a different shared history and lessen some of that loneliness.

-If you have kids, be aware that you are helping to build their first shared history. Be intentional and find joy in the history you’re creating with them.

-In the beginning, it’s hard not to voice the shared memories that surface. Be patient with yourself. And then work to lessen their presence. No need to eradicate them, just don’t keep them in the file folder in the front of the mental drawer.

-If you’re starting a new relationship, be patient. It takes time to develop a full shared history. As it is created, nurture it by interacting with it. For example, revisit special restaurants, use nicknames and remind your partner of a time when they really shined.

-Stay busy and engaged. Love your moments and you won’t worry as much about your memories.

Ruminating vs. Processing. Do You Know the Difference?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I often find that people are confused about the difference between ruminating on the past and processing the past. They think they are doing one when, in reality, they are often doing more of the other. I can see where the confusion exists – both ruminating and processing involve thinking about (and perhaps talking about) the past.

And that’s about where the similarities end.

So then what does separate ruminating from processing?

Ruminating

tangleRumination starts in the past and it stays in the past. It starts with thought and it stays with thought. It is time spent pondering the “what ifs” and playing choose-your-own-adventure with experiences now past. Rumination gets you nowhere. It has no goal and no purpose apart from endlessly exploring those well-tread mental paths. It can be a trap as its labyrinthine cords bind you to your past. Rumination thrives on recursive thought, one idea leading you to the next and to the next with no external input.

It’s easy to ruminate. Trigger a sad memory and this can easily be the default setting initiated. It’s the automatic pilot of the traumatized mind. It takes no energy to sustain and, in fact, requires energy to break out of its insidious cycle. Excessive rumination may be a sign of depression. If you find that you are having difficulty breaking out of the cycle, seek help. It’s out there.

Processing

smoothProcessing may initiate from the past, but it is then future-focused. It begins with thought and then continues in action. Unlike the unfocused meandering of rumination, processing is directed. There is an end goal in mind and steps are taken to reach that intention.

When you’re processing, you’re not just going over it.

You’re making sense of it.

It’s difficult to process. First, you have to summon the courage to face things you would rather bury and leave for dead. Then, you have to be willing to take responsibility not only for your part in whatever happened, but also for your well-being going forward. The past must be examined for patterns and connections. New input needs to be considered and assumptions dropped; the well-worn mental paths may indeed be missteps and it might be time to carve some new ones. Those memories can be combed through until sense is made and the endless loops are broken.

And then comes the hardest part. Processing requires action.

It’s not just your thoughts that need to change in order to release the past.

You do.

Are You a Reliable Witness?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

When I was in 5th grade, I was in a gifted pull-out program. Two days a week, I got to miss my afternoon classes in order to tackle challenges and puzzles that were outside the state-mandated curriculum.

One afternoon, we were all working hard at our tables on a set of brain teasers we had been given. We barely glanced up as a woman entered the classroom, spoke with our teacher for a few moments and then left.

It just didn’t seem important. After all, our task was to complete the puzzles.

Except it wasn’t.

Twenty minutes later, our teacher revealed the true purpose of the day’s lesson. She admitted the brain teasers had merely been a diversion as she handed out a sheet of paper with, what seemed at first glance, deceptively easy questions.

We worked independently to complete the page, answering questions about the woman who entered our room less than an hour prior: What was she wearing? What did her hair look like? What was she carrying?

As I glanced around the room, I noticed that all the students (myself included) seemed confident in their answers. After all, how hard is it to describe someone you just saw?

Pretty hard, as it turns out.

We came together to share our answers. It got rather heated.

“She had brown, curly hair.”

“No, it was blond.”

“It was brown, but it was straight.”

“Her hands were empty.”

“She was carrying books.”

As we continued to debate, some started to doubt their memories and allowed their minds to shift.

“I thought her shirt was red but, now that you mention it, I think it was yellow.”

The more we analyzed our memories, the more they changed.

The closer we looked, the more blurred the focus.

The woman had gone from inconsequential to significant as we all clambered to be right.

Finally, our teacher turned to the classroom door, opened it and welcomed the woman back in.

None of us had described her correctly.

We went on to discuss the use of witnesses in criminal trials and debated the ethics of sentences being handed down based upon the recollection of a bystander.

And I went on to always remember that lesson. To understand that we really aren’t as aware as we think we are and that when we’re called to remember, we fill in the gaps unconsciously.

And many years later, I found comfort in that lesson. I realized that my painful memories were malleable. That I could consciously fill in the gaps between remembrances to find meaning and purpose.

That at some point, memories fail to be an accurate representation of the past because they are always filtered through the knowledge of the present.

That it’s important to keep your mind open to the perceptions of others.

And that none of us are reliable witnesses to the past.

But it doesn’t matter.

Because it’s more important to be mindful and here in your now.

So that you are a reliable witness to your present.