How Do You Know When You’ve Moved On After Divorce?

Posted on by stilllearning2b
move on

Some milestones in divorce are clear – the day the decree is final, the day you establish your own home and the day you go on your first date.

But the most important milestone? The one that anyone who has ever been through divorce eagerly awaits?

That one is more subtle.

So how do you know when you have moved on after your divorce?

The Memories Lack Emotional Punch

When I first used to share with others that I had been left by my partner of sixteen years, I felt as though I had come down with some super-bug. My limbs would shake, my temperature would rise and I felt as though my stomach was trying to run away (perhaps to catch my runaway husband).

Over time, these physical symptoms dissipated – the stomach would twinge rather than threaten to expel its contents, the shaking was reduced to a slight tremble in the hands and the internal thermostat was regulated.

And then one day, when I had to tell my story, I realized I had no physical – and no emotional – reaction. It just was. The events had become fact. Not feeling.

When you can remember bits of your past and share your story without feeling like you’ve been punched in the gut, it’s a sign you’ve moved on.

Memories Do Not Have to Equal Suffering

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The Divorce Is Not Used As An Excuse

“I can’t afford that.” “I’m not ready for a relationship.” “I’m afraid to open up and be hurt again.”

I said it all.

And as long as I said it (and acted upon it), I was allowing the divorce to hold me back. Decide what I could and couldn’t do.

And that was a clear sign that I hadn’t moved on.

And now?

Yeah, it’s not always easy.

So what?

I’ll be damned if I let it hold me back.

When you can accept that the divorce may have set your floor but that it doesn’t dictate your ceiling, it’s a sign that you’ve moved on.

18 Steps to Financial Independence During and After Divorce

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You Can Appreciate the Good In the Marriage

In the beginning, I could not accept any good in my former marriage or my former husband. I had to make it all-bad so that I could make it all-okay. Because when an unwanted divorce arrives on your doorstep, the best way to accept it is to pretend that you wanted it.

In time, good memories starting sneaking in through the cracks in my hastily-built wall. I remembered the goofy, gangly kid that I fell in love with, the unsure but determined young man that accepted a move across the country and a chance at a real career and the confident (seeming, at least) guy that accepted accolades in his work. The moments we shared started to bubble up to the surface and with them, smiles.

The beginning and the middle became separate from the end. And I grew to appreciate what was good without either overanalyzing it looking for cracks or following the tracks to its demise.

When you can treasure what was good in your marriage without dwelling on why it is gone, it is a sign that you have moved on.

Finding Happiness After an Unwanted Divorce

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How I Recovered From Spousal Abandonment and Betrayal

Posted on by stilllearning2b

I wish there was a recipe for healing after the demise of a marriage – add these ingredients, sift out these elements, let the concoction rest for a specified period of time and then apply heat to set it in place. But divorce is not so simple. Not only do cooking times vary, but the ingredients are as diverse as the stories.

So, don’t look at this as a specified and exacting recipe that has to be followed to the letter to create a favorable outcome. Rather, consider these suggestions and feel free to add, subtract or manipulate ingredients to suit your taste and your resources.

These are the steps and strategies I used to find peace with my past, happiness in my present and excitement for my future:

I Believed I Would Be Okay

The reality hit like a cannonball to the gut. My body slid to the floor as my brain attempted to make sense of it all. Even in those early moments, when I had to face the truth that the man I adored had been systematically destroying everything I loved, I believed I would be okay again. I had no idea how I would get there; the future was one big question mark after another, but I held fast to the idea that there would be an “other side” of the hell I was thrust into.

I Asked For and Accepted Help

I was beyond fortunate that my dad was with me when I received the news and that the rest of the family soon rallied to render aid. I composed an email to them that let them know how best they could help.  I set aside my stubborn independence to move in with a friend when she offered her spare room. After declaring that I did not want medication, I listened when others advised it was needed. I went from a leader at school to the cared-for one. And I accepted every offer of help.

accept help

I Surrounded Myself With the Right People

Until I experienced it, I was unaware that sudden spousal abandonment was even a thing. In the early days, I desperately turned to Google for answers and to assure myself that I wasn’t alone. I stumbled upon message boards where shocked and grieving spouses shared their stories of the awful and traumatic ends. After posting my own story, I logged off for good. Although I felt comfort at knowing this had happened to others besides me, I didn’t want to focus on the pain. Instead, I intentionally surrounded myself with the right people – compassionate even though they didn’t understand and positive even though they would bitch along with me.

I Wrote, Posted and Tracked Goals

There was so much I could not control. I couldn’t go back in time and change my choices. I could not alter my ex’s actions. I couldn’t speed up or steer the legal process. So I grabbed on to what I could influence. I wrote and posted twelve goals for the year ahead: everything from running a race (my first) to making two new friends. Some of the goals were multi-faceted and overwhelming (find a new job), whereas others were simple and direct (learn to cook one gluten free meal to excellence). Those goals were all written with healing in mind; they were my stepping stones to happiness and gave me some much-needed control when everything else was insanity.

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The Day the Marriage Died

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Up until now, everything I have posted has been recently written, almost 3 years since the end of my marriage.  I recently went back and visited some of my earlier writings, drafted in the weeks and months after he left.  I’ve decided to share some of that, to expose the raw underbelly of divorce.  Please be aware that this writing has a different tone.  The emotions and language are harsh as they capture my reaction on the day the marriage died.

Choosing: painting by first husband, George Fr...

Wellness is not measured by the amount of broccoli you eat or the number of miles you can run.  It is not found in the number of punches on your yoga membership card or the double digits of your sit-up count.  Wellness is not indicated by the reading of the blood pressure cuff or the size indicated on the label of your jeans.

I used to think I was well; I had all of the above mastered.  My lean, muscled body spoke of the intense workouts it was subjected to along with the strict vegetarian diet that was used to fuel the exercise sessions.  I awoke before dawn to ensure that I could fit a workout into my hectic schedule as a middle school teacher.  I fit long runs in on open evenings or on the weekends.  I watched everything I ate, avoiding meat and keeping a careful eye on the amount of fat consumed.  My favorite way to spend the weekends was working in my extensive garden or going on long hikes in the nearby North Georgia mountains.

I used to think I was well.  But, I wasn’t.  All it took to strip away all of physical manifestations of health was a few short sentences.  A text, sent across the country on a sunny Saturday afternoon, arriving unexpectedly on my phone.

July 11, 2009  12:38 p.m.

I’m sorry to be such a coward leaving you this way.  I am leaving. Please reach out to someone let the dogs out as I am leaving the state.  The code for the garage is 5914.  I’m truly sorry but I can’t do this anymore.   Please give me some time to come to terms with my decision.  I will call you in a few days.  I am sorry that I have failed you.

Lesson One

When two become ones, you are able to see yourself clearly.

Fear gripped.  Legs collapsed.  Brain stuttered.  Lungs heaved. Gut clenched. Body trembled.  World shattered.  Visceral.  Violent.

My father’s arms engulfed me as I lay shaking on the floor, my body and brain rebelling from my new reality.

“What can I do for you?  Do you want me to call mom?” my dad offered, seeking for a way to comfort his only child.

“Yes, please,” I responded, forcing the words out through my locked lungs.

He reluctantly left me in a heap on the hallway floor in my aunt and uncle’s house as he moved to the dining room to make the call to my mother in Texas, whom he had divorced decades earlier.

My brain barely registered his soft, yet strained voice in conversation several feet away from me.  My hands gripped my phone with urgency, willing it to send another message.  Wanting this to be a mistake.  A joke.  Anything but real.  A little anger pushed through the initial shock, enough for me to summon the courage to flip open the phone, using muscle memory trained over years to scroll down twelve names to Mr. T, the nickname he used to put himself in the phone he bought for me years before.

“Hello.  You’ve reached T of MMS.  I cannot come to the phone right now, but please leave a message and I will get back to you as soon as possible.”

I took a deep breath and left a message, almost unintelligible through my tears, my shaking, and my heaving chest.

“T.  I don’t understand.  What is this?  A text message?  Sixteen years and a text message? Please don’t do this.  Not like this.  Call me.  Please.”

I closed the phone, severing the connection.

It sat there silent.  Taunting me.  I opened it again, this time to send a text message.

What about the dogs?  Are the dogs okay?  Call me.

It remained silent, the screen dark.

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