My partner and I have spent years coming to terms with the reality of our marriage coming to an end. It’s been a challenging journey filled with denial, pain, and grief, all of which we managed privately for quite some time. Now, as we live apart and move toward divorce, we are slowly acclimating to our new reality, taking it one day at a time.
From the outside, many people perceive us as a couple that appears content and capable of handling the situation. This perception stems from our mutual decision to maintain privacy during such a difficult phase. While we confided in close friends over the years, our neighbors, family, and even the local store owner remained unaware of the turmoil we faced. Our children sensed something was amiss but were left in the dark about the full extent of our struggles.
Despite our best efforts to suppress our emotions, the façade proved to be exhausting. The burden of pretending to be okay while feeling as if we were barely keeping our heads above water was overwhelming.
Since we’ve begun to speak openly about our separation, I frequently encounter the same question from women in my circle and even from those I don’t know: “What is it like?” Perhaps what they truly seek is reassurance, a glimmer of hope, or guidance as they contemplate similar decisions. Some express a desire to take the same steps but need to feel less alone in that thought. It’s as if they are looking for validation, questioning whether they could survive such a transition and emerge intact.
I relate to their inquiries; I, too, sought answers in my time of doubt. I needed to know that I could rewrite my narrative and still flourish in the next chapter of my life. It was crucial for me to be convinced that my family, including my partner, would be okay if we pursued this path.
However, I cannot claim to have the answers for everyone. Relationships are not uniform; they stretch, warp, and sometimes even become unrecognizable. What works for one couple might not suffice for another.
So when someone approaches me, saying, “I’m considering this too. We find ourselves in a similar situation. Are you okay?” I respond with a complex yes and no. We appear content because we processed our feelings before revealing them to anyone else. Our openness came only after we reached a definitive conclusion about our relationship. This approach was our choice, but it still marks the end of a chapter and the dawn of a new life. The grief waxes and wanes, and all we can do is feel it and keep moving forward.
Truthfully, I’m living a life I never envisioned for myself. At times, it feels as though I’m mustering every ounce of strength just to escape a dark place. Ironically, this feeling often strikes just after I’ve experienced a moment of clarity and peace. The end of my marriage has its own way of surfacing pain, even when both parties agree it’s for the best. One moment I may feel liberated and joyful; the next, I’m engulfed in heartbreak, unable to stifle the tears.
What others observe in us is the unraveling of a relationship that no longer functioned. We aimed to evolve into individuals who could support one another while embarking on separate journeys, and thankfully, we are managing that. Our bond remains strong due to the three wonderful children we brought into the world together. Our commitment to making this transition as smooth as possible for everyone involved is sometimes effortless, yet other times it feels as though the universe is testing us.
There are days when it feels as if I’m leading a double life. I question the choices we’ve made, only to be reminded of my purpose when I find myself searching for my daughter’s shoes, catching a glimpse of my reflection, and feeling a rush of confidence. Each time sadness strikes again, I find strength in knowing I’m doing what’s best for myself, my children, and even my ex-partner.
Tears often flow, especially on the day I removed my engagement and wedding rings. I had hoped to wear them longer, but the moment my partner left, I felt an unbearable discomfort beneath them. The sensation was so intense that I had to take them off, watching them tumble on the vanity, knowing I would never wear them again. As I sat there, tears soaking my towel, I felt profound pain.
Yet, soon after, an unexpected sense of relief washed over me as I admired my bare hand, just as I had when the rings were first placed on my finger. Instead of glistening jewels, there was only the imprint left behind — a symbol of both freedom and sorrow. Letting go of a relationship that no longer serves you is liberating. You can mourn someone while recognizing that you don’t want the past to return, and that creates a confusing emotional landscape. You don’t truly understand it until you’re living it.
Some days, I drift through life in a haze, while other days, I feel a desire to conquer the world. There are moments when the sun feels blinding, and I long to hide under a cozy blanket, yearning for comfort. On those days, I struggle to articulate my thoughts. The fatigue has been unlike anything I’ve ever known.
It feels like shame. It feels like failure. It feels unnatural. It’s as if I am shedding layers of my being. I feel raw and exposed, yet ready to forge ahead, albeit terrified. Then I remind myself that I am in control of this process, and all I need to do is take one step at a time.
Until I forget again. Divorce has a way of throwing you off balance.
I’m a whirlwind of emotions, determined to be the best mother and promising myself to avoid mistakes. But I also recognize my own shortcomings and allow myself grace, dropping the unrealistic expectation of being perfect in a new role. I can’t shoulder that burden, nor would I want my ex to bear it either.
One lesson I’ve learned is that when you’re on the brink of a life-altering decision, the instinct to move forward is powerful. You take steps toward what you truly desire, even when fear looms large. If you find yourself leaning toward staying in your marriage, that is your truth. Conversely, if you’re drifting away from it, that also is your truth. It’s natural to oscillate between these extremes as you navigate your path.
Ending a marriage is rarely straightforward. The experience varies for each person, but ultimately, it signifies the shedding of an old self. Before the healing begins, you’ll likely feel worse. Doubts will creep in, and you may feel fragmented, held together only by sheer determination. However, deep within, you’ll know your truth and continue to progress through the pain, uncovering layers as you move toward your authentic self — not anyone else’s, just yours. You can do this.
For more insights, check out our piece on navigating the complexities of fertility treatments and home insemination.
Summary: The journey of ending a marriage is filled with complex emotions, from grief and confusion to moments of liberation. Each individual’s experience is unique, and while it can feel daunting, it also represents an opportunity for personal growth and self-discovery. As you navigate this transition, remember to embrace your truth and take one step at a time.