One Year After My Divorce

Let the Reflections Roll

I’m one of those people. I cry easily at weddings. Even if I don’t know the people. My heart swells with hope and happiness for the couple.

Ditto for looking at pictures on Facebook.

Errrrrrrk! Not so much anymore. That was Theresa before her own marriage took on water and, in slow-mo, sunk before my very eyes. There weren’t even ripples.

Now there’s Theresa after divorce. Quite unbidden, when I see a happy wedding picture my first thought now is, “DON’T DO IT!” or “RUN!!!”

I suppose it is normal. I was married for 32 years. Divorced officially for now a year. Separated before for nearly a year. Now what was once a till-death-do-us-part commitment would now flap in the wind, like a sheet on a clothesline.

He’s telling me he doesn’t know if he wants to be married anymore. Doesn’t know if he even believes in marriage.

I am…well; I don’t know what I am because no one ever prepared me for these surreal discussions that would occupy much of our last two years together.

I’m flapping in the wind too. Do I stay or go? I still love this man. But I can no longer trust him. I thought we would grow old together. We had been through so many things already; we could work our way through the difficulties. Well, provided there is a commitment from both of us.

And then the clothesline picture that pops into my mind stirs up melancholy. My years of hanging out clothes for my family of five.

I did this for two reasons. It was a task I enjoyed (and there is nothing like the smell of lined dried sheets!). It was also, what I felt, was part of my economic contribution since line drying saved on the power bill.

Other than side hustles here and there, we were a one income family, and I was proud of how my frugal ways contributed in a not small way.

More surreal discussions. How do we separate the items accrued in our many years together? Not that there is anything there besides a pile of debt that he accrued the previous two years.

Everything is on a google spreadsheet. A spreadsheet. A. Fucking. Spreadsheet. This is what’s left?

Just numbers and a few VIN numbers for the old cars we drive. He keeps the van-I get the Prius. Both of us shrug over the distribution of household items. I would end up taking most of the household items. Still not sure what to do with the wedding album. The kids don’t want it. This was our story… not theirs.

The main asset was the camper we were living in.

We were serving as camp hosts for a local nature center. In true Theresa fashion, I found the opportunity in the nic of time and jumped on. It was at our favorite place for hiking and seemed propitious.

In exchange for a “free” campsite, we would open and close the gate each day and keep the restrooms sparkling.

We would use this time to reconnect, refocus and recommit. (Like my alliteration?) This meant getting out of debt and minimizing the distractions that come with a regular home.

Or at least that is what I thought.

After three years of gate duty and toilet cleaning, I got the memo: we reached none of the objectives. The emotional distance grew along with the debt. And recommitment? Oh, yeah. Refer to the sheet thing up above. Is that a northerly breeze I’m feeling?

I grew more miserable and suffered with IBS and a resurgence of fibromyalgia symptoms. I also believe it was this stressful environment that fueled the tumors in my breasts. My body was getting the memo but my heart couldn’t bear to admit.

More surreal discussions take place over that fucking spreadsheet. I’m asking him if he’d like coffee while we’re having these discussions. “What would you like for dinner?” I later ask. The old roles die hard.

If you didn’t know what was really going on, you’d think we were just an old happily married couple. We were mostly civil to one another. Both wanting to have a “good” divorce and be as honoring of each other as we could be.

Not just for the sake of our adult children, but well, that is how we rolled. (Well, mostly. The betrayals I faced were anything but honoring.)

Our marriage therapist also told us that sometimes couples turn away from the divorce trajectory because they focus on the task at hand and find common ground once again.

After several months of therapy, it was clear he was gone.

But the nadir came in a session where he spilled the beans. I knew about the emotional affair. But I didn’t have a clue about the next one. And it wasn’t just emotional. I was gobsmacked. Never saw it coming.

I told him I forgave him. And that I would be willing to reconcile.

You already got the spoiler alert. After several months of useless dialog, I filed for divorce.

Hardest thing I’ve ever done.

After it was finalized, I was diagnosed with breast cancer, so I shoved any processing of the divorce to the back.

The emotional trauma had to be compartmentalized to deal with breast cancer treatment.

While active cancer treatment is over, I am still dealing with its physical and emotional aftermath. And the hormone suppression pills have awful side effects that I hope will soften in time.

That aside, I know it is time to turn my heart to healing after the divorce.

Crazy thing, I still love this man-but differently. The man that I once knew is gone. I wish him happiness and success.

My happiness, tempered still by grief, continues to grow now I am no longer married to him. The more time that passes, the clearer I can see just how unhealthy and unhappy our relationship grew over the previous 10 years.

I have a lot of inner work and healing to take place.

I am reconnecting with myself. Getting acquainted with my new scarred and boobless body.

I’m still left with what to do with the wedding album though. I flip through the pages. Don’t do it, I whisper to my beaming 24-year-old self. But I realize this is just a part of me. A sad, deeply hurt part.

Many years were happy. And even if I could, I would not change anything because it means my three kids wouldn’t be here.

The ebbs and flows of life. Birth and death. Renewal and decay.

With so much death behind me, I am eagerly watching for the signs of new beginnings. I may even be able to shed happy tears at weddings again.

Thanks so much for reading. You can find me around the internet at www.theresawinn.com, on Facebook, LinkedIn and Instagram. If you’d like to support my writing in a small way, feel free to contribute to my wishlist. (Right now it’s a one year subscription to Canva.)