I just checked the calendar to confirm what my soul suspected: it’s been almost exactly six months since I announced to the blogosphere that I’d separated from my now-ex husband. Attuned to the predictable rhythms of my psyche, I’ve been bracing myself for this next stage: the aftershock, that weird, vulnerable, emotionally tenuous place where you feel something surprising struggling to be born from the apparent tranquility of acceptance.
Much of the post-traumatic coping in the aftermath of divorce, I’m learning, happens subconsciously, roiling under the surface like an emotional leviathan. On the surface, I’m doing swimmingly: I go to work, I teach my classes, I pay my bills and walk the dog. I shop and sightsee, take and post pictures, and spend time with friends old and new. In a word, I have a life, and I love it: never have I regretted leaving a relationship that was dying and (frankly) taking me with it. And yet at the same time, I’m only gradually coming to grips with the repercussions of living my life with a healing wound: scar-tissue of the soul.
One morning last week–the morning before my ex-husband’s birthday, in fact–I woke before my alarm with a panicked startle: “I’m divorced!” It was as if the enormity of the split had suddenly dawned on me, like I’ve been walking around in blithe disregard of what dire fate has actually befallen me. For a moment, I thought I’d burst into hot panicked tears right there in my bed, the sun still hours from appearing. It wasn’t that I missed or regretted “losing” my ex-husband since for several weeks now I’ve had occasional, fragmented, and barely remembered dreams where he’s appeared unannounced at my doorstep, in my car, or in my apartment, sudden and uninvited. In each of these dreams, I’ve felt the same sickening emotions that led to separation: the cringing worthlessness I felt being married to someone whose expectations I felt perpetually doomed to under-satisfy.
No, that morning’s panic had nothing to do with my ex-husband but everything to do with me, with the inexplicable shame I feel being “a divorced woman.” As much as I never fit the role of what a good wife (whatever that is) is supposed to be, I struggle even more with seeing myself as being the kind of person (whatever that is) who would divorce.
I never thought I had a judgmental view of divorce; I’ve never been conscious of looking down on someone because their marriage didn’t work out. But in my own case, I’m gradually coming to realize how much guilt and shame I’ve been carrying, a seething cauldron of psychological poison bubbling just under the emotional surface. My marriage failed…I failed. I’ll always be tainted with that irredeemable flaw: I’m a divorced woman, my first marriage having failed.
It’s as if I’ve long labored under a subconscious notion of purity: in a day and age when more folks than not, it seems, have at least one failed marriage under their belt, I felt aloof and different: pure. Marrying young, before I had much experience with the dating scene, I could pretend I was a wife from a different era, pure and virginal, someone who could years later boast of having been married for 30, 40, 50 years: a boast as precious as gold in a tawdry and tarnished time.
Instead of being able to boast late in life that I’d made my marriage work–that I’d kept my sacred vows and successfully forsook all others for as long as we both did live–now I’m forever besmirched with human imperfection. Divorce. Another way of spelling failure, quitter, breaker-of-hearts, starting with one’s own. Although I’d never lob these hideous invectives at another soul, they stick so perversely when I toss them on myself. Married as a good Catholic girl who really believed those priests who said Marriage is a Sacrament, I never again will be so young or so naive. Nope, now I’m Used Goods–tainted–a second-hand car that’s been ’round the block more than a couple of times and is showing the usual wear and tear. The old gray mare just ain’t what she used to be: I’ve gone from being not-so-good as a good-little-wife-wannabe to being exactly what the status on my car insurance says: once Separated, now Divorced. Not whole but severed: patched but forever broken.
Lately, on scattered occasions, I’ve had bouts of panic about being alone. These aren’t emotional feelings of loneliness: this isn’t a matter of missing my ex-husband or yearning for a man’s companionship. Instead, I’ve felt occasional panicked feelings of vulnerability, as if I were by nature a herd animal–antelope or gazelle–that suddenly has been singled out from the herd, alone and defenseless, as a hungry leopard approaches, lean and swift. I am a newly divorced woman living on my own some 700 miles from my closest kin. If I slipped in my bathtub, who would notice? If I fell victim to some accident or disaster, who would care?
These are, of course, the illogical questions of a frightened mind. Simply being coupled doesn’t save you from accident or mortality, and even while I was married, I spent a large portion of my free-time alone, preferring solitude or the company of friends to that of a spouse from whom I felt increasingly estranged. But panic, I’ve come to believe, is a telling symptom; in my meditation practice, I’ve learned that panic, like a hiker’s double-blaze, often preceeds a marked and unexpected turn. Sometimes panic is the overture to a more lasting trial; sometimes facing panic–the imaginary beasties under one’s bed–is how we prepare to face the long haul of meaningful change and new beginnings.
For in the very midst of these dark emotions that churn and roil beneath the surface, clarity and strength arises unbidden. This past week I said goodbye to a friendship that had gone sour, an acquaintance I deeply admire but who had become increasingly difficult for me to deal with. I feel no hard feelings toward this friend: I just reached a point where I no longer had the energy to second-guess another’s actions and motivations. After having spent too much energy of late apologizing for ways I’d unwittingly offended simply by being myself, I reached the same point in friendship that I’d ultimately reached in marriage. Sometimes quitting is a necessary thing: sometimes you simply need to say “enough” rather than continuing to push a stone up a slippery hill.
This past weekend at the Providence Zen Center, several old friends had not yet heard of my divorce, leaving me to explain (awkwardly) the current state of my love life when faced with the seemingly innocuous greeting, “So, how are you guys?” Now that I’m no longer half of “you guys,” I stand alone in the face of people’s questions: “My husband and I divorced in November, and I’m doing fine.” As awkward as it is to deal with the wide range of emotions such an announcement evokes, it ultimately feels good to answer the question honestly, no longer needing to pretend my marriage was something it wasn’t. Instead of clinging to some boastful notion of purity, it’s a relief to acknowledge that both people and relationships change and grow, that even crushed and shattered souls can ultimately find the strength to move on.
Yes, I’m still obsessed with reflective photography, having uploaded several of these images to the Mirror Project. You can find my past submissions here, or you can check out a random assortment of Mirror Project submissions.
Apr 7, 2005 at 2:00 pm
Serving up a chunk of your soul for the world to see. Knowing that acceptance of self needs to have the bravery for others to accept you in all your glory and in all your faults. What a brave lady I see even as only a reflection in the mirror and as a reflection of these words on these pages.
Although I cannot claim to know the feelings that come with your circumstances I can say that I see life as momentary connections with others. Sometimes to make beautiful art out of long lasting iron we must apply heat from a forge and the strength of a hammer.
I see a beautiful work in progress as God continues to hammer away at your heart.
Take Care
Michael
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Apr 7, 2005 at 4:27 pm
One of the saddest days of my life was receiving the dissolution of marriage papers. I have been writing such an essay in my head for a while now; I may write it down this week or next. However, just remember the song as Sinatra sings it “The Second Time Around.” I have to say that today’s culture is so different that I am not sure marriage is necessary for everyone anymore, if it ever was.
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Apr 7, 2005 at 4:58 pm
ouch…
Being a divorced woman in a not particularly well fitting second marriage (of almost 22 years which I know says many things in itself) and in some moments contemplating going through a divorce for a second time, I can relate to some of the various th…
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Apr 7, 2005 at 6:22 pm
You share yourself in such a genuine way. It is hard for me to explain what I mean by that. It is in a way that is not at all self-pitying, but in a way that is beneficial. What I can do is say thank you for being brave enough to let us see your wounded areas. In so doing, we realize our wounded areas are not so ugly as we thought.
When you share like this, I am reminded again that even though they might look different, we all carry those “irredeemable” flaws around with us.
And after reading about your early discomfort upon seeing images of yourself (a trait with which I can totally empathize!), and how being able to post these reflective photos of yourself represents a sort of breakthrough for you, I can’t see it as an obsesssion….yet! I see it as more evidence of growth, hoping one day I can overcome my own aversion to pictures of my self! When the locals start to talk, as in “hide the shiny stuff, here comes that crazy woman with her camera”, then we might discuss obsession!
Keep that shutter snapping!!
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Apr 7, 2005 at 7:38 pm
Lorianne, as a once-divorced woman, all I can say is (besdies how courageous I think youa re for writing and sharing this) – eventually you’ll get over those feelings of having failed. Don’t look back, anymore than you can help. People change, you change, we make different decisions when we’re young – and for different reasons – than we do later. I never should have married my first husband – it was a wrong decision for both of us – but I did it. And later we stopped being married. That was a right decision for both of us, as has proved to be the case over the next two, nearly three decades, when we both went on with our lives and became happier people. I understand the guilt and the self-analysis very well, but you’ll get beyond it and stop thinking of yourself as some “category” of person – for now, please remember there are lots and lots of us in that category with you!
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Apr 7, 2005 at 7:56 pm
Lorianne- Thanks for sharing this. I suspect it isn’t easy to put into words, nor to post it and leave yourself so vulnerable, but that may just be me.
This line spoke to me in many ways: “Sometimes panic is the overture to a more lasting trial; sometimes facing panic–the imaginary beasties under one’s bed–is how we prepare to face the long haul of meaningful change and new beginnings.” I admire your efforts to be open to the invitation the feelings of fear/panic offer to you to anticipate change. I’ve had some feelings of failure of my own lately (of a different sort, but the result is similar). I’ve done everything I can to push the feelings out. It hasn’t worked, so I’m learning to welcome them instead. I found some affirmation in what you said.
I hope the future will begin to draw you into its welcoming arms, offering you the joy and anticipation of new things.
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Apr 7, 2005 at 8:16 pm
Lorianne: what I think is so wonderful about your openness here is that you are allowing this quite wonderful community spread around the world to love you, surround you, validate your feelings. Blogging wasn’t around when I got divorced but even if it had been I’m not sure I’d have opened that part of myself, feeling as vulnerable as I was.
That you do helps. It helps me. I relive all that and am more gentle on myself.
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Apr 7, 2005 at 8:58 pm
Lorianne,
You’ve been divorced for 6 months and I’ve been divorced for 11 years. I’ve been remarried for a little more than 4 years. I’m happy to say that I feel successful at this marriage but there is something about failing at that first marriage that I cannot describe nor define. The divorce still feels like a failure to me, as if I should’ve known in the first place that it would’ve never worked out. Well, how the hell should’ve I known? I was only 23?! I’m at peace with it now, mostly because I’m at peace with my other “failures” as well. I hope you find peace in your own time.
Corrina
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Apr 7, 2005 at 9:35 pm
I hope you enjoy your still-newfound freedom. I know one divorcee back in the States, a friend of my mother, who left her husband and hasn’t looked back since. Years have passed and she’s still not bored of her liberty.
Life is a highway…
I wanna ride it all night long…
Liberté, j’écris ton nom…
Kevin
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Apr 7, 2005 at 10:10 pm
Thank you for so aptly putting into words what I am certain many divorced folks feel but are unable to express.
One day at a time. It is good to learn from the past while staying in the moment.
Veronica Lynne
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Apr 8, 2005 at 6:56 am
Now you have it. It’s just one failure, just one loss of faith, followed by outrageous bursts of new life and hope. You move on. What fascinates me is how predictable are both the stages and the timing of the stages. I hope you don’t feel that observation diminishes the pain of the experience, but well, huh? Ain’t we humans…interesting?
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Apr 8, 2005 at 8:05 am
Thanks for all the supportive comments. I don’t *feel* courageous writing about this…in my mind, writing about my divorce is as natural & inevitable as writing about the weather or some cool thing I saw around town. Writing about the divorce *shows you where I’m at,* and that’s always been the purpose of this blog: here’s a snapshot of a particular place at a particular time.
I’d been warned that the initial euphoria/relief I felt immediately after divorce would wane and that the “tough stuff” would bubble to the surface later. I also know that the aftershocks of traumatic events (and the psychosomatic symptoms such events can trigger) often appear about 6 months after the fact. So I’ve been watching & waiting for this, not so much out of a spirit of dread but out a spirit of curiousity: “Okay, what’s it like to be six months out of a marriage: what’s *that* feel like?”
Ultimately, I’m finding it very interesting that I struggle to extend to *myself* the kind of compassion I readily extend to others. I’d never accuse someone *else* for being a failure because they divorced: I’d recognize that all sorts of factors contributed to the situation, and I’d realize that these things sometimes just *happen*. But for whatever reason, I seem to have a different set of expectations for myself. Sadly, I think letting go of these expectations is more difficult than letting go of the marriage.
Thanks again for the outpouring of support & positive comments.
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Apr 8, 2005 at 11:35 am
I admire your ability to sit with your feelings.
Divorce is hard, no matter who instigated it, no matter how amicable or violent. Even though it’s been nearly 10 years since my second divorce, I haven’t forgiven myself for my “failures”.
The feelings you’ve expressed remind me of my own journey and my daily gratitude for my freedom from the complex emotional torture of a malignant relationship, for my renewed sense of strength and purpose, for my life.
And yes, even though we live in this enlightened age, with a 50 percent or higher divorce rate, one can still feel the raised eyebrows and the long, drawn-out “ooh”s. To them, I smile and say, “Third time’s the charm.”
I also still feel that occasional rush of panic, of “Who will take care of me?” even though I know that, statistically, I’d end up doing most of the caretaking. I’m in a great relationship now, and I have no idea where I want it to go.
We are who we are, including each the sum of our experiences. I respect that I am who I am today because of my past. I accept the good that I gained from my “failures” even as I struggle to accomodate the bad. I try to be better. That’s all I can do.
Good luck with your journey.
L
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Apr 8, 2005 at 12:55 pm
Lorianne, this was an amazingly open and thoughtful post on a topic that is near and dear to my heart. If you think telling people you got divorced was hard the first time…try the THIRD. I swear I stayed in my last marriage four years too long, simply because I couldn’t bear to think about having to tell people.
For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing great. And your life is not over…not by a long shot. Love may be just around the corner for you…just out of your line of vision. π
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Apr 8, 2005 at 6:32 pm
I’ll say this, not because you don’t know it, but because it might be good to hear it — there’s no way in hell that the huge swath of life-experience, taking in years and holding so much of two so wondeful people — which we so lightly designate by a two-syllable noun, as if it was a cheap flashlight — can be a “failure.” There’s just no meaningful way to apply that word to a marriage.
If you stepped out of the marriage having learned nothing, felt nothing, done nothing, shared nothing, since you stepped into it, that, I guess, (were it possible) would be a failure. But that’s not what happened — it’s nothing like what happened.
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Apr 8, 2005 at 10:07 pm
I too used the word “failure” over and over, until I realized I was the only one using it. It took me years to see that my only failure was being in a relationship that I hadn’t the courage to admit wasn’t working. Being as honest and true to yourself as you seem to be, and allowing yourself these natural feelings and emotions, is the the most true and successful thing you can do. You are being wonderful! Right now!
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Apr 9, 2005 at 4:55 am
Your eloquence and openheartedness just always surprise and move me. And that photo where you’re staring with an unfathomable expression at and through the bouquets… oh! In fact all the mirror photos are particularly poignantly illustrative here, I think.
The first thing I thought when you started writing about your separation and divorce was ’23, that is so young!’. You probably weren’t more than half-way to being you then. I don’t know anyone at all in my peer group (early 50s) who is still with the person they were with at that age. I do occasionally hear of couples who have been together 30 years and more and seem so happy they have obviously, with a combination of luck and commitment, been able to grow together and end up still compatible. I think, how rare and amazing. So I can kind-of imagine how hard it must be to have seen yourself as part of that very small group and now no longer…
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Apr 9, 2005 at 6:36 pm
I must say that it seems totally unrealistic to put all the responsibilty for a marriage on two imperfect, young, inexperienced human beings. They say it takes a village to raise a child, I think it also takes a village to make a marriage good. Outsiders are needed to provide guidance, wisdom, reality checks, and even chastisement, to keep both parties moving in the right direction. Unfortunately, when the whole society is messed up and fragmented, it can’t provide those helps and married people are on their own. If divorce is a failure, then it is a group failure. Hey, remember, even Adam and Eve had God as their constant counsellor and guide in the Garden.
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Apr 9, 2005 at 6:45 pm
P.S. I too feel the agony of “divorcing” a friend. I have a friend who is bipolar, and even though I know it is the illness that makes her irrational, I am tired of tiptoeing around the emotional land mines and getting blown up anyway. I feel like I am a bad friend by “abandoning” her, especially when she is in such need of help (though she would angrily and tearfully deny that she needs help). Not fun.
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Apr 9, 2005 at 10:01 pm
Thanks, Lyn, for the comment. You say you admire my ability to sit with my feelings, but actually, I think it’s more difficult (in the long run) *not* to sit with them. Being in denial got me to this place, so only paying attention is going to get me out. If I can’t make the pain go away, at least I can try to learn something from it. π
Thanks so much, Panthergirl, for taking the time to comment. I *am* doing great…mostly. But I think it’s important for me to be honest *with myself* about those times when I’m not doing great, because that’s part of the journey as well.
You know, now that I know how painful divorce “really” is, I think I judge other folks *less.* Knowing what divorce is like having been through it *once*, I can’t imagine facing that two or more times! I think a lot of judgmental folks think that divorce is an “easy out,” but now that I’ve been there myself, I know it’s *NOT* easy by a longshot. And knowing how rough it is on me, I particularly admire divorced parents who manage to keep strong for their kids: I don’t know how y’all do it! π
Dale, of course you’re right! Instead of focusing on the *end* of the relationship as being the end-all, be-all moment, I could focus on nearly 13 years of somehow making it work. Sometimes when I hear a note of pity/judgment from folks (especially younger ones) lamenting the sorry state of marriage today, I wonder to myself whether *they’ve* had the experience of holding a relationship together for over a decade. That time wasn’t wasted, and for all the mistakes that were made, a great deal of growing happened, too.
JoJo, you hit the nail right on the head: it’s about being wonderful *right now.* Of course I’m the only one here that’s labeling my experience as a “failure”: even my ultra-Catholic mother repeatedly told me that I can’t/shouldn’t judge myself, that I’m *not* a failure, that “these things just happen.” Isn’t it funny how we can grant leniency to others more readily than we grant it to ourselves?
Jean, 23 *is* very young. In retrospect, I was young, inexperience, and scared. I was graduating from college without a clue as to what to do next, so having a husband seemed like a kind of safety net: wherever I’d end up, at least I’d have *someone* there with me. And as much as I might have married for the wrong reasons, I had the sense to marry someone who was a dear friend, shared a lot of my idiosyncratic tendencies, and pushed me move places I probably wouldn’t have explored on my own. Things might not have worked out as I’d planned, but some things turned out right, and I’m slowly learning to cut myself some slack for the mistakes in judgment that I like any other youngster made.
Sylvia, I’d never thought of divorce as being a *group* or communal failure…I’ll have to contemplate that! In my case, my ex-husband & I married and then moved some 700 miles away from either of our families, so we faced a harsh, cruel lesson in making it on our own. The fact that we *did* make it for so long is, I guess, a testament to *something*: amidst the send of “failing,” there were a lot of successes, too. I guess the sports cliche is true: you win some & you lose some. π
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Apr 10, 2005 at 9:30 pm
Lorianne – I admire your courage relaying your feelings about your divorce…………..I divorced my husband 11 years ago after 28 years of marriage…………Because of the feelings of being a failure I went through 2 years of psychotherapy and it was the best thing I did for myself……..It took 2 years before I could look in the mirror and say to myself “This is the first day of your new life” and I have been so happy ever since……………Once you realize that you can be ALONE without being LONELY you’ve got it made!!!!
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Apr 12, 2005 at 9:29 pm
Luckily, I reached the “alone without being lonely” realization before the marriage ended, since I had a lot of practice even before we separated. So actually taking the plunge toward divorce was something of a formality, which is why I’ve adapted to the transition better than many do. I have no doubt that this was a necessary step…my emotions, though, sometimes “forget” this fact! And I don’t feel like i’m being courageous sharing my experience…if anything, it’s a relief to feel like there are people listening & supporting me as I navigate this life change.
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