From the very beginning, my partner and I envisioned a life filled with children. It was a given; a resounding “yes” whenever someone asked about our future family. Having kids was one of the cornerstones of our marriage—our shared dreams of parenting, discipline, and values were the glue that bound us together. For us, starting a family was a goal we eagerly anticipated as we built our life together.
Yet, that goal always felt just out of reach. After tying the knot, acquiring a dog, and buying our first home, we found ourselves surprisingly held back from taking that next step. Something significant yet indefinable stood in our way. The issues we faced seemed insurmountable, and rather than being resolved, they only grew more pronounced. I was perceived as overly critical, while he was viewed as dishonest. After five years of marriage and three years of counseling, we faced the inevitable: divorce.
The process shattered me. It wasn’t merely the acute sense of failure that lingered—my greatest source of shame. It wasn’t just the overwhelming task of moving from our shared home to an unfamiliar place. It wasn’t even the loss of mutual friends who felt compelled to pick sides. What truly broke me was the lack of understanding from those around me.
Everyone—literally everyone, from my family to my colleagues—claimed I was “lucky.” Lucky because we didn’t have kids. Lucky because I wouldn’t endure a custody battle or have to see my ex again. Words like “clean break” and “simple” were tossed around like confetti at my unexpected celebration of singledom. Even the legal system downplayed our marriage; a quick form, a fee, and just 13 days later, I received a letter confirming the end. It felt like it took less effort to dissolve my marriage than it did to transfer a car title.
When you experience a “lucky” divorce, people assume you’re fine. Few take the time to check in on your emotional state or offer support. As a result, I masked my pain. I avoided discussing my feelings during casual outings, opting instead for surface-level conversations. When friends asked about my weekend, I’d recount mundane tasks or family visits, never revealing the truth: I spent nights crying on the couch, only leaving home to walk my dog. I often found myself sobbing in my car before even reaching home, drained from the façade of happiness I maintained throughout the workday. I never admitted how I spent hours reminiscing over photos of my ex, struggling with every ounce of self-control not to call him and plead for a second chance.
The demise of my marriage shattered my heart in ways I never thought possible. It obliterated the future I had envisioned—the children that would never come, the joyful years I anticipated with my husband now lost. My fears for this new life felt suffocating. Would I ever find love again? Would it be soon enough to still have children? Did I make the right choice in leaving? These questions haunted me, and the very promise of never seeing him again—something others saw as a silver lining—was the hardest truth to accept. I longed for him in my life; sometimes I even wished we had children so that a part of him could always remain with me.
I know there are many individuals who have gone through divorce with children and might envy my situation, thinking I was fortunate to avoid the complications they faced. But let me assure you, there are no “lucky” divorces. Even the most straightforward ones can turn your life upside down and your heart inside out. The only truly lucky ones are those that never happen.
If you’re interested in more insights about divorce and its aftermath, check out this article. Additionally, for those considering family planning, Make A Mom offers home insemination syringe kits to help you on your journey. For further information on fertility, Science Daily provides excellent resources.
In summary, divorce is a complex emotional journey that transcends societal perceptions of luck. It’s essential to recognize the depth of pain and loss that accompanies the end of a marriage, regardless of circumstances. Everyone’s experience is unique, and there’s no such thing as a “clean break” when it comes to matters of the heart.
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