The Collateral Damage Of Divorce: You Might Lose Some Friends (And Family Too)

I feel like there’s a saying somewhere that goes something like, “Men come and go, but friendships are forever.” Maybe I’m delusional, maybe I’m naïve, but I swear this is a thing. Or was a thing.

Either way, there should be a gigantic, neon warning sign on the marriage certificate that states, “If this union shall end in divorce, one of you will keep the friends, and the other will suffer in isolation and misery.”

I made many of my most meaningful friendships during my marriage. They included his family and friends, but also people we collected together along the way. I became close to his friends’ significant others and seemed to form deep bonds with them — vacationing annually together, girls’ trips, visiting each other in the hospital during our babies’ births, raising our kids together, and sharing some of the most intimate parts of our hearts with one another over the years.

Until one day — poof – they were gone.

I truly wasn’t prepared to lose some of my best friends while going through a divorce. If there’s anything that can test one’s sanity and will to persevere, this is it. I’ve never felt so dark, so buried, in my entire life. Losing my spouse was one thing, one thing I chose to walk away from with the heaviest heart, so that we could all find happiness. But I didn’t choose to lose my support network, and I didn’t choose for people to ‘pick a team’. I never anticipated this part.

I guess when those on the outside don’t understand why you walked away, judgment takes hold, and sometimes, like in my case, you’re kicked to the curb. And it’s devastating. It’s a pain so sharp, it has knocked the air out of my lungs over and over again. I didn’t know I could hurt this much. I didn’t know making a decision, a decision that I believe to be the best for my family, would cost me everything.

But it has.

And it really sucks.

The most hurtful days fell on the week of the Fourth of July. My ex-husband and I agreed that he would have the kids for the second half of the day, and I would have them for the morning. My ex was scheduled to pick them up at noon, so we had plenty of time to grab brunch and hit up the park.

But then he called me and asked if he could come get them early because all of their friends and cousins were already gathered, and wanted to see them. Without hesitating, I agreed because I wanted my kids to be happy, and I knew this would make their day.
I was fully prepared to let my kids go and enjoy their holiday, but I wasn’t prepared for what it would do to me.

I spent the rest of that day torturing myself as I scrolled through social media watching my kids, my ex, and all of our his friends frolic on the beach, barbecue, and watch fireworks as the sun went down.

It’s like I had died and was watching my old life through my phone screen. No one invited me, no one called me, and I felt as low as one could feel. The self-deprecating thoughts began: Maybe this is what I deserve since I walked away, maybe I’m unlovable, maybe no one ever cared for me the way I thought they did. I sunk into my couch and went to sleep as the fireworks popped off in the distance. I felt like I was stranded on an island, and no one was going to send a search party.

Divorce sucks.

Losing pieces of your old life sucks.

And losing friends really really sucks.

So, yes, I’m having a bit of a heartbreak, but not everyone has ghosted me. Going through a divorce is like planning for a wedding or preparing for a baby, you find out who those ride-or-die friends really are, and it makes you cry rivers of joy knowing people like that exist in your life.

I can count on one hand who has stuck by my side — not chosen my side, but supported me without judgment or expectation. So many people feel as though you owe them an explanation when going through a divorce. They want to know, and they often want to pick a side. But unless you’ve been through it, no one quite understands the overwhelming emotional undertaking that is a divorce. Especially when children are involved.

Whether you’re the one walking away from the marriage or not, you take on your emotions, your spouse’s emotions, your kids’ emotions, and then everyone else who feels you owe them an explanation. It’s a lot. It’s too much. And I don’t care how strong we are, we need friends who will just listen without judgment. And I thank God for the few I have.

These are the friends who don’t give a shit if you haven’t answered their calls in two weeks — they still call or text you every day to say, “I love you. I’m here for you when you are ready. You can do this.” They are the friends who leave cards on your doorstep that are filled with words of support and encouragement. They bring Chinese food and wine over unannounced and don’t leave until you’ve stopped crying. They offer to take your kids off your hands for an afternoon while you attend your weekly therapy appointment.

They don’t leave. They don’t go silent. They don’t take the divorce personally. They don’t pry. They don’t make it about them. They are diamonds in the rough, and I hope they know just how much I truly appreciate them during this difficult time.

There’s no two ways about it: Divorce fucking sucks. But when your true friends and family rise to the occasion and put you back together over and over and over again? That’s the silver lining. That’s the light in all of the darkness. Quality over quantity.

Source: https://www.scarymommy.com/after-divorce-lost-friends-family/

This Is What It Feels Like When Your Marriage Is Ending

My husband and I have had years to get (somewhat) comfortable with the fact our marriage is ending. It’s been a long road, and we have dealt with the denial, the hurt, the pain, and the mourning. And we did it our way and kept it between us for a really long time. And now we are living apart, and are in the process of getting a divorce and dealing with our new normal, day by day.

To people on the outside looking in, they have said they see two people who look happy and are going to be okay, but that is because we decided early on to respect the other’s privacy during our nightmare. We both had very close friends to talk to over the years, but our neighbors didn’t know. Our parents didn’t know. Our extended family didn’t know. The guy who owns the corner store didn’t know. Our kids knew something was going on — they always do — but they didn’t really know.

As hard as we tried to stuff our feelings, it was impossible. The charade was exhausting. Trying to convince the ones you love the most you are happily swimming along, when in reality you can’t even tread water, is too heavy to carry.

Since we have started talking openly about our breakup, I’ve been asked the same question by women I know, and women I don’t: “What is it like?”

Maybe what they really want to say is “Give me hope. Tell me what to do.”

Some of them mention they want to do the same thing, and they simply need to know they aren’t alone. I often think they are reaching out to someone who has been there, because they are wondering if they were to end their marriage, would they be okay? Would they make it through to the other side?

They come to me, asking for the truth, all of it. I understand — I wanted to know too. I was searching for some kind of validation. I needed to know I could rewrite my story and still stand up in my next chapter. I had to be absolutely positive my family (including my husband) would be okay if we did this for real.

I don’t know what the answers are for anyone else. Relationships are not one-size-fits-all. They bend, they wear, they rust, their shape changes. Sometimes they become more beautiful with time, and other times, they become so warped and unrecognizable, you don’t want them any more. What is enough for one couple might not work for another.

So all I can say when people say to me, “I am thinking of doing this too. We are in the same place. Are you okay?” is yes and no. We seem happy because we already put our time and misery in before we shared it with anyone. We waited until we made a final decision to talk openly about it. No one has to do it this way; this is what we chose, but it’s the end of a chapter nonetheless and the beginning of a new life. The pain ebbs and flows, and you have no choice but to feel it, to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Honestly, I am living a life I never thought I’d be living, and sometimes, it can feel like I am using all my energy to climb out of hell. This usually comes two minutes after I have a moment of peaceful clarity. Your marriage ending can be an asshole like that, even if it’s what both people want. One minute, you’re feeling happy, content, and free. The next? Your heart is breaking all over again, and you can’t hold back the sobs.

What you are seeing when you look at us is the undoing of a relationship that wasn’t working. We wanted to become two people who held each other’s hands and promised we would dig deep and try our best to go our separate ways while helping the other through it. And thankfully, we are.

We still have an unbreakable partnership because we made three amazing humans together. Nothing will change that. We vowed we would make this as bearable as we could for all involved, and sometimes it comes easy, and sometimes it feels like the universe is giving us the middle finger, but we are still standing.

I have days when it feels like I am living a double life. I have moments when I wonder what the fuck we’ve done, only to walk upstairs to try to find my daughter’s shoes, catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and have a feeling of absolute confidence and certainty wash over me. And when the next blow comes, I am somehow more ready to take it because I know I’m doing what is best for me, my kids, and my ex-husband too.

I cry a lot, like the day I took off my engagement ring and wedding band. I wanted to wear them longer, but the weekend my husband moved out I developed the most painful sensation under them — something I’d never felt. I lifted up the platinum bands to see my skin literally peeling off underneath. It felt like 100 bee stings. I took them off and watched them swirl around on the vanity. I knew I’d never put those rings back on as I sat on the toilet and cried into a gray bath towel. It hurt like hell.

And then I felt good, really good, and I stared at my newly naked hand just as much as I did when the ring was slid on my finger for the first time. I held it up to the light, but instead of catching the glare from the diamond, this time it was bare, the light catching only the indentation where those rings sat for so long.
It feels like freedom and sorrow. It is freeing to let go of a relationship that is no longer serving you. You can be sorry and miss someone without wanting your old relationship back, and that is confusing as hell. You don’t believe it, until you’re living it.
Some days, I float along in a trance, trying to get through. Some days, I want to go out and conquer the world.
There are days when the sun hurts my eyes, and my marriage ending feels like wanting to curl up under a down comforter and have someone hold me. I don’t even want to talk because I can’t even get my thoughts in order. I am so unbelievably tired. I didn’t know an exhaustion like this was possible.

It feels like shame. It feels like failing. It feels unnatural.
It feels like someone is peeling back my layers. I am raw and fresh and ready to move forward, but I am more petrified than I have ever been. Then I remember I am the one doing the peeling, and suddenly I know what to do — just move forward, one step at a time. And I do.

Until I forget again. Divorce is a bitch like that.

I am a mixed bag of emotions. I want to be the best mom and tell myself I will never make any more mistakes, ever. Then I call myself out on my own bullshit and give myself a break and drop the “I need to be all the things to make up for being unable to be married to their father anymore.” I can’t carry that, and I would never want him to carry that.

One thing I’ve learned through this is that when you want to make a life-changing decision, you usually do it. You move toward it even if you are scared shitless, even on the days you question yourself.

If you are moving toward staying in your marriage, that is what you want.

If you are moving away from it, then that is what you want.

And of course, you may flip-flop between both extremes before truly figuring out your next step.

Ending your marriage is not black and white. The experience is different for everyone, but it does mean you are shedding an old version of yourself. And before you start feeling better, you will probably feel worse. You will struggle, you will second-guess, you will feel like you are broken in two and the only thing holding you together is pure grit.

But deep down, you will know. You will keep moving through the pain, peeling back the layers, heading toward your truth. No one else’s, just yours. You’ve got this.

Source: https://www.scarymommy.com/what-divorce-feels-like/